John's Interludes for Three
by JennoftheGlenn
Summary: Post TRF- post return- Pre S3- JOLLOCK (Josherlolly!)- Sherlolly Johnolly & glacially slow Johnlock Repeat: CONTAINS SHERLOLLY & JOHNLOCK & JOHNOLLY- John, Molly & Sherlock - a complicated relationship that takes Sherlock by surprise - John/Molly/Sherlock- slash- polyamory. Reviews are so inspiring: Help me come up with my next big idea! - new chapter *coming* soooon.
1. Reacquainted

Reacquainted

"John, we're out of su- " Sherlock called out from the kitchen to the sitting room, but stopped himself quickly at the sight of John's empty chair. John and Molly had wed some months prior, and Sherlock admitted to himself that now the flat was much too quiet. Much too quiet by half, and even a bit - lonely, though he'd never use such a sentimental word aloud. He thought he really wasn't getting the hang of it at all, this complete solitude, and it was starting to concern him. He'd called John's name out to the empty flat a number of times, and had held forth in long important conversations which included sarcasm, wit, and important suggestions for protocol for future cases that the two should follow, which had never been attended at all by the doctor. It was beginning to be embarrassing, even if no one else was present.

His return to his former life after his leap from St. Bart's had been almost simple. Ridiculously simple. Everything seemed to fall back into place without a hitch. It was like a dream. Only one thing jarred his now near perfect reality - John and Molly were married, moved into their own absurdly, infinitesimally small flat, and had practically abandoned him., though of course, John still aided him in his cases.

Lies. He was telling himself lies, he knew. _Own up_, he thought. His return had _not _been so simple. Logistically simple, yes. But _emotionally_, he knew he had to admit it, it had not been so easy emotionally, and he was having a lot of trouble keeping his sentiments at bay, more than ever before in his life. During the months of his 'death,' he had been almost entirely alone and faced dangers at every turn. He'd had Mycroft and Molly to turn to: Mycroft for information, and Molly, after she'd helped him fake is death, for solace, the odd shower, and some meals. B for the most part it was him on the ground with two or three revolving incompetent idiots of Mycroft's, tracking down Moriarity's network, and eventually wiping it out. It took 18 months, but it was astounding to Sherlock in retrospect that they (he!) had been able to accomplish it at all. _Thank god it was done! _ He had been jubilant. _Now I can go back to them, John, Molly, dear old Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and even that wanker, Mycroft. Steady on, there I go again, _ he thought.

This emotionalism. Was it age? A couple more years of age and wisdom should certain _help_ the situation, not exacerbate it. Was it the lengthy separation from any society at all during the mission? He'd never needed it before, why would it affect him now? Was it time to relapse into drug use? He considered it more often than not, lately but found himself to be completely uninterested. That wasn't at all what he was after. What was? Was he facing some kind of a crack up? He pulled one of the the sitting room window curtains aside and looked into the street. If he lost his mind how would he continue, he wondered?

Too depressed and annoyed to continue to make his pot of tea, and very disinclined to make any tea at all if there were no sugar, he threw the spoon he was holding into the sink with a loud clatter as it hit several pieces of glassware and crockery which, he noticed, had somehow piled themselves into the sink. "Agh," he said to the full sink of dirty dishes, and waved his hand at it, as if to dismiss an irritating line of questioning.

_Molly married John_. He still couldn't get over it. She was naturally still at her post at the morgue, and he saw her whenever he had a case that took him to Bart's. But it wasn't at all the same, was it? Her adoring presence in the morgue was replaced by a self possession and confidence that was startling to Sherlock. Of course she was kind and accommodating, perhaps even more _kindly _and_ patient _ than ever, but she'd moved on in his absence, and she and John had found one another.

Naturally Molly and Sherlock had become close while she was hiding him and helping him, soon after his leap off the roof of St. Bart's. They had spent two weeks together in her flat, and they had succumbed to the inevitable sexual tension several times almost from the beginning. At the time he'd very clearly expressed to Molly that he couldn't promise her anything except that he would come back if he were able. He cared about her deeply, but for his mission to remove the threats to Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and John to be complete, he'd have to go abroad indefinitely to take apart Moriarity's network. He'd put up his usual defenses, walls, barricades to emotionalism, but eventually, in his solitude on the mission, he would recall his memories of Molly, her body, her _skin_, the sound of her voice. He recalled them more and more often as time went on, they became source of great comfort. In a way the memories, and his reflections on the kind of life he might be able to give her in the future had gotten him through that time. It had taken him 18 months to wipe out the network, but when he got back to London, he'd seen what a fantasist he had been. What had he been thinking? He could never give someone like Molly the kind of life she expected, and wanted, and then, of course, women wanted _children. _He was not merely ill-equipped for such an endeavour, he was baldly _un_equipped.

So, Molly and John were married. No matter how many times he repeated it to himself, he couldn't take it in. _Mine_, he thought, _wasn't Molly always mine? _The thought made him feel like a child whose toy had been taken, and for the umpteenth time, he actually shook his head as if to get that particular cobweb out of his brain. _John and Molly. Molly and John. How can I go on like this? _ They were a little less his, and wholly belonged to one another. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, and barely did to himself, but he felt alone and quite left out. He felt _completely_ left out. How could they _treat_ him like this? After what he'd _done_, after what he'd _sacrificed_, and _risked_. He shook his head again, naturally he didn't begrudge a bit of it. But he lacked their familiar, easy company and there was an enormous void in his life where they had been. It had to be faced, admitted, at least to himself.

He sulked much more often than ever, though no one was there to see, and spent hours on the sofa in a fetal position in pajamas and a dressing gown. He would have to take himself in hand, he knew. A course of physical exercise? Something must be done in any case.

He played a few strokes on the violin of his own composition, but he was soon bored and put the instrument down. _Molly. _ He reached into the desk drawer, pausing before picking up a gun. Thinking better of it, however, he left the weapon in its place. He let out a heavy sigh. _John._

Then he suddenly remembered - tonight? Yes, John had invited himself and Molly over for this very evening. Highly unusual, that, and Sherlock had gruffly said no at first, claiming to be too busy, but John knew how to manage it, and they were due – Sherlock looked at the clock. Any minute. Well, at least they were bringing take-out. There was no way these dishes were going to get done before their arrival. He grabbed the violin again, and launched crazily into something Klezmer that he remembered from a recent case.

Molly and John arrived, and there presence was a balm. Though Sherlock managed to keep his aloofness, he thought, there was no repressing his smiles, as Molly and John's laughter and simple conversation soothed him deeply. Their usual and often annoying habit of touching him, as well as one another, seemed instead to quiet his interior anxiety and tension. And even after the hugs, and shoulder slaps of the couple's initial greetings, there was no end of the pair touching his shoulders and arms throughout their dinner. At any other time, it might have quite annoyed Sherlock, but tonight he was lightened by the familiar contact with his two friends.

Now, the take-away had been annihilated, three bottles of wine were being felt, and each of the three breathed out an audible, satisfied postprandial sigh almost at the same time. All three joined in chuckling at this, as they made eye contact each one with the other two. There was a lull and a quiet in the room that wasn't at all uncomfortable, but which, it seemed at least to Sherlock, held a certain suspense. These two were communicating silently, Sherlock thought. Even though they'd been married a relatively short period, they'd developed a deep bond and facile shorthand of communication. Sherlock could practically hear the dots and dashes of their personal Morse code. What was it about, he wondered? They've got something on their minds. He looked at John questioning silently. The room had darkened, and Molly lit a pair of candles on the table, the only lights on in the flat as the evening drew in around them.

"Ah, Sherlock," John began, "We've rather missed you."

"Yes, we really have," Molly added.

There was a pause, where Sherlock might have said something but he only dipped his head, and looked at his hands. John and Molly exchanged a look. Of worry? Of complicity?

"Actually, we've been meaning to talk to you about it."

"Yes, we have," added Molly, and she left her seat, and walked over to Sherlock's chair which he'd pushed out from the table a bit to stretch his legs after the meal.

Sherlock looked up at Molly's approach, and took her in. She was lovely tonight, he thought. She was wearing her hair long, with a few strands from each temple caught loosely in a barrette at the nape of her neck. A pale lavender blouse with frills buttoned down the front. Finishing a chic bohemian look that was not at all his old Molly, she wore a loose crepe skirt that Sherlock realized only now, was a little too fancy and fine for a take-out dinner at an old friend's and looked rather more like date-night attire than - Suddenly her hands were in his hair and she was gently kissing his head, and stroking his cheek.

"Um, Molly?" Sherlock asked, as she put a hand on his shoulder to steady herself, and then swung a leg over his lap, straddling him in his chair.

"Yes?" She responded innocently. They were nose to nose, the heat of her legs' sudden contact with his own was undeniably arousing. He smelled her soap and shampoo, noticing gratefully that she'd dispensed with using perfume tonight. _She remembered_, he thought. _But what on earth?_

"Don't you remember this?" Molly whispered in his ear, her hot breath making him quite dizzy. _Yes, he thought, I remember, god, of course I remember._ Another wave of dizziness followed. She'd done this to him in her flat, sitting in his lap and had caught him quite by surprise, and they had -

"All right, Molly," said John from his seat, "Don't tease too much, hmm? The thing is, we've been meaning to have a word Sherlock, for a while, and, well, I guess I've been embarrassed about it. I've kept putting it off." Molly was now lightly tracing Sherlock's hairline behind his ear with her lips, now and then giving tiny kisses. It was all Sherlock could do to keep his hands off her – they still floated in the air at either side of her in an attitude of surprise.

"Ah, John, your wife is sitting in my lap. She's – she's kissing me, John." Sherlock managed to half speak half whisper to his friend seated directly across the table from him.

"I know, isn't she lovely?" John sipped his wine. "She convinced me a direct approach would be best tonight. The thing is, god, how to start this? Well, I guess the beginning, right?" Here, John paused and took a breath.

"You see, Sherlock – um, we wanted to say - Molly and I are together because of you. And, I don't mean that you simply _introduced_ us – though I'm not sure you ever actually introduced us _properly_, but that's no matter – God how can I?- but we're together because of _you_ – We're _together_…good lord, just a minute."

The doctor paused – with emotion? Sherlock glanced over and the doctor made eye contact.

"That is, Sherlock when we," and here the doctor smiled, and reddened somewhat.

"When Molly and I – when we _come together_ - in the beginning, when we first started seeing one another, and even now – a large part of what we're doing when we are – um, are intimate – "

"When we have sex," Molly purred close to Sherlock's ear.

"When we're intimate, yes, when we have sex, what we feel we're doing in large part, is well – we're trying to _feel closer to you_."

Sherlock stopped breathing and looked at John to confirm what he'd just heard. He took in his friend's open expression, then looked at Molly, who smiled patiently. Then she continued her attentions to Sherlock's neck and ears, but now pulled away, cupping his face in both her hands, and then stroking his cheeks, tracking the line of his lips.

Then, Molly looked at one of Sherlock's hands, still suspended in the air, and frowned, glancing at John in disappointment. They connected, and agreed silently.

"Of course, we don't want t embarrass you, or ourselves for that matter, so, since I think you can see where this might be going to some degree, we'll just. . Molly?."

Molly moved to lift herself from Sherlock, but quickly, without thinking, he grasped her hips and brought her back down in his lap, and then ran his hands up and down her back, pulling her closer, looking, smelling, _remembering_.

"Oh, you see, John, you _see_? I told you, I _told you._ He's lonely for us too, aren't you?" She purred, pushing her hands into his hair, gently pulling.

John smiled, and reached across the table, laying his hand briefly on Sherlock's arm as the two men made eye contact again.

"Good, all right," said John breathing out with some relief. "So, to continue, I guess, well, that's the main thing, we miss you - somehow we always have. There's a sort of – don't get me wrong, we work, we're in good shape, I think, but it's just sometimes, even when we're – well, we can't stop feeling there's a void - an emptiness between us, that neither one of us is responsible for, nor capable of filling for the other."

John went on. "Another thing, I have to say, I need to say to you - I always knew Molly had feelings for you, cared about you. But didn't we all think it was crush? But what I didn't know, I didn't know that _you_—I mean I know you know that Molly _came_ to me – while you were – covert.

"I sent her to you," said Sherlock.

"I know. She's only recently told me that. But I didn't know any of that then, of course, I thought you were _dead_, for godssake, and and we, Molly and I – well, as you know."

John tried to collect himself a little before continuing.

"And, _now_ well - Molly's told me now, about the time you spent together, that you were um, _quite_ close in the days just after – you know," John paused for control.

"And I don't mean – that is, I'm _glad_ that you were able to – turn to one another during that time, I'm very grateful that you had one another to- I wish I- I wish we-"

"John," Molly breathed into Sherlock's neck, "you're doing beautifully, just beautifully, I'm here, darling."

"Yes," John continued, "Um, she told me about all that – that you were _intimate_ but what I wanted - I wanted to say, I didn't _know_ that you were -that _you_ had feelings for _her_. I didn't know. Before Bart's, you'd never said a thing that made me think – But I guess I should have known. And now Molly's told me about your time together. What I'm trying to say is, – "

And here John afforded himself a little chuckle.

"Well, I guess I feel quite guilty for having stolen your girl. But, you'd never said anything, and then you staged the jump - I'm sorry I'm getting jumbled. Hang on."

John shook his head, and took in the sight of his wife and his friend holding one another. Sherlock was still trying to keep his head from spinning. Molly was increasingly bold and uninhibited in his lap and had started pulsing her legs together against Sherlock's as she kissed and stroked his hair, and the detective was rendered almost speechless. His hands travelled to Molly's face, gently stroking her cheek, looking into her eyes while remaining absolutely attentive to what John was saying. She smiled, and kissed him tenderly on the mouth, and trailed down his chin and neck, as she began to unbutton his shirt.

"John, your wife is unbuttoning my shirt."

"Yes, she's lovely, isn't she?" Said John. "So that's the second thing, and for Molly's part, I mean, she's said that she feels she betrayed you to a degree, as well. She had that crush on you for years, and then – well it must have deepened into love while you were covert, yes?"

"Yes," Molly said, kissing Sherlock lightly on the mouth again. He couldn't hold back any more, and slowly, but relentlessly deepened their kiss, only breaking finally when John continued.

"And then there were those months when you were completely out of contact with her. And Mycroft. We were frantic to help you, to know what you were doing, if you were ok, but what could we do? We begged Mycroft for information, but he assured us he had none. – God – you were completely alone out there and we were here, safe _because_ of you. It's almost –" John stopped and began again.

"So, that's what we wanted to say. We want to – we''d hope you would – god. Um. We're still missing you. There. And if you're at all missing us – if you are - well, we want to share, is all. But only if you'd like, naturally. Unless it's uncomfortable for you. But it's not as though any one of us conforms to any kind of middle class, normal - We just don't want you to be left to yourself when we both – uh –

"Love," said Molly.

"Yes, when we both - care for you… so much. Ok. That's it. Sorry, god that was rather sappy, but we had to get that out."

Here, the doctor took a deep breath and put down his wine glass, which he had been gripping he now realized, far too tensely, and rose from his chair. He rounded the table, and approaching Sherlock's chair, looked down into Molly's face, smiling.

"So, my dear, I'll just – um, call me when – um, that is, I'll pick you up, yes?" And here he nuzzled her neck, and kissed her deeply, with no hesitancy or embarrassment.

"I love you, John, darling."

"I love you too. Ok," and he turned from the table to locate his coat. But as he turned, Sherlock shot a hand out, and gripped the doctor's wrist. There was a moment of stillness in the room.

"No need to rush off right away, John." Sherlock said, "Weren't you just saying that you missed me?"

Molly hummed with delight. "You see? You _see_, John. I told you." Sherlock chuckled at this, and took John's hand, and placed it on Molly's shoulder. The contact of both men's hands on her made Molly arch her back with a deep hiss of pleasure and she almost lost her balance in Sherlock's lap, but he steadied her.

"John," she said in a whisper, leaning back into his hands. John gripped his wife's shoulder's, and looked at his friend in silent agreement. He smiled at Sherlock reassuringly as he reached forward and unbuttoned Molly's blouse affording Sherlock a view of Molly's lacy demi cup bra. His eyes darkened, as John left the open blouse, and reaching underneath at her back to unclasp her bra, but left the garments in place. John kissed and sucked her neck, as she purred and mewed with pleasure, then he pulled away, just maintaining contact with his hand on her shoulder.

"I'm here," he said, taking away his hand, "I'm not going anywhere, just over here," And he stood for a moment at the edge of the light in the room and he made eye contact with his friend. Sherlock, without taking his eyes from John, lifted the thin fabric of the blouse from Molly's shoulders, and let it fall on the floor. He slipped the bra straps from Molly's shoulders and the black lacy undergarment followed the shirt to the floor. John watched his wife lean back as Sherlock practically devoured her breasts, mouthing and nipping at them, tonguing them, now roughly, now tenderly, sometimes just dragging his face across her skin, with short guttural sounds one mightn't have expected from him. John took another sip from his glass, and another small step away from the chair where his friend and wife were joined in one another's arms. Again, Sherlock made eye contact with the doctor.

"I'm perfectly all right, Sherlock, this is all perfectly all right." said John, moving a little closer to the couple in the chair. "Molly and I have found that I'm, ah – well, a bit of a voyeur – hmm? And we're all – well, you know – human sexuality, hmm?" Here, John lifted one hand from his wine glass, palm up, as he rolled his eyes and shrugged. He sipped his wine. "Don't worry," He continued, "I won't be content to sit on the sidelines all night. But for now, lets give you too some space and let you get reacquainted, Hmm?" and he was gone, stepping into the darkened peripheries of the room away from the chair and the candlelit table.

Molly had already unbuttoned Sherlock's shirt and was trying to get it off when he turned his gaze back to her.

"John," said Sherlock, stroking Molly's hair, and face and neck, "Your wife is taking off my shirt."

"Yes, she's beautiful, isn't she?" John, in the darkness, now in a different part of the room, a quiet, reassuring presence.

"I've always thought so," Sherlock said to Molly directly.

"I've missed you _so_," she said, and they fell into another searing kiss. _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I had no idea I would be gone so long, and I wanted to talk to you every day and hold you every day and feel you, why should I think you'd wait for me but John is so clearly the better choice for you, I'm glad you found each other, but I'm lonely and selfish, but you're here now which is sooooo - So, long, it's been such a long time since you've been in my arms, and now here you are, and John, too, and, dear god, how long will it last? _

His thoughts were mad and uncontrollable. He spoke not a word of them, but tried to put all his feeling into his touching her as they kissed and caressed one another. In another moment, she let him help her peel off her skirt and pants, cast them aside and resettle, now naked, in his lap. Sherlock stroked her sides, her hips, and purred into her neck, "I have, it's true," he whispered hoarsely, and then more loudly so that John could hear him properly. "I've missed you, too - both of you." And his kisses came more urgently as he gripped Molly's hips, grinding her into him. He pulled back a little and widened his knees, looking down at her, between her legs. He ran his knuckles across the skin of her neck and breasts, and trailed his hands down her abdomen and stroked her sex.

"John. Sherlock." Molly smiled.

He held the small of her back steadily with one hand, and pressed the fingers of his other hand deeply into her. So warm, so wet, he thrust into her, letting her buck and writhe in his arms, contract around his hand, as he breathed against her neck as she moved and moaned. With his thumb he rubbed her where he knew she wanted him, and moved back and forth, driving her to buck against his hand with more urgency and sound.

"Molly, you may be making a mess, hmm?" Asked John quietly, now from the area where the sofa was. "Trousers?" A question that wasn't a question.

"Yes," said Sherlock, helping Molly stand, standing himself. Whose hands were whose? One wondered as Sherlock's belt buckle, buttons, zipper and elastic were dealt with, and the clothing was flung aside. The pair, now naked, stood panting, facing one another, not touching, consciously or not awaiting John's approving, reassuring words. And the doctor appeared, at Sherlock's elbow, still holding his wine glass which was now a little more full. When had he filled it? Sherlock wondered, the bottle he knew had been at his elbow the whole time, how did he – oh, what the hell, who cared? Sherlock dismissed his thoughts as hormone-addled and useless and tried to place his concentration on the moment, Molly here, and John, too, all that he had been thinking of all week so excruciatingly, no, for months, he realized, now. But this, he'd never imagined anything like it – when and how had John?

The detective felt John's hand on his shoulder.

"Relax, Sherlock," he said softly, directing him to sit back into his chair. "Take a seat." And to Molly, he said, "Here my love." John carefully placed the union jack pillow between Sherlock's feet, and he was away in the darkness again. "John, you are so lovely, darling," Molly purred, adjusting the pillow, kneeling down and burying her face in Sherlock's lap, kissing, sucking, licking, all the while drawing herself closer, encircling his waist with her arms, until she was closely molded against him, his rock hard length deep in her mouth. Sherlock's hands laced into her hair as he threw his head back, his mouth open in a silent moan. There was silence in the room for some minutes but for the kissing and sucking sounds Molly made as she luxuriated in Sherlock's lap.

"She manages beautifully, doesn't she?" John in the darkness. Sherlock made no answer. Then the naked couple sensed John's presence directly behind Molly, dragging something. Sherlock opened his eyes to see the doctor arranging Sherlock's duvet on the floor. Sherlock couldn't speak at the moment, but thought _he thinks of everything._.

"Don't wait too long," said John. "Sherlock is getting pretty close, aren't you?" And here, the doctor ruffled Sherlock's dark curls with one hand, his fingers lingering on his neck, taking his pulse? Sherlock wondered, as the doctor slipped into the shadows again. His words were only quiet, rhetorical, and though they had been practically in Sherlock's ear, they'd seemed far away. Anyway, no one answered him. Sherlock reached down, drawing Molly's face up to face him, then leaned down to kneel on the floor himself, pushing her back, back into the fluffy but hard duvet bed that John had fashioned for them on the floor behind her.

Quickly, Sherlock's hands were back in her hair, his knees were between hers, pushing her legs apart farther and farther, as he was kissing her, and bracing his knees and body, poising himself to impale Molly, when he felt John at their side again.

"Um, sorry," John said, as the sound of a plastic wrapper crinkled. "My wife, and all, should have thought of this before. Erm, if you'll allow me, I'll just -" and here the doctor reached between the two of them, firmly grasped Sherlock's cock in one hand, and quickly and efficiently guided a condom onto the tip, and down the length, as Sherlock tensed with a growl, and then relaxed somewhat.

"Sorry. Ok," John said as he slipped away again.

"Quite right, John, I should have – "

"Not at all –"

"That is I should have – oh, fuck –" Sherlock said as he plunged in to Molly without any further preamble. Her sex was glisteningly wet, and Sherlock had no difficulty finding the right angle of entry as he fluidly lifted one of her knees to his shoulder, but then held her there, both of them immobile, and now nose to nose.

"Remember this?" Sherlock whispered in Molly's ear with a wry smile and she answered with a sigh,

"Yes, oh, yes."

"All right?" Sherlock asked her.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine –" she clung to his neck, writhing from side to side encouraging him to move, but Sherlock held the pair almost immobile until, with a smile he managed to husk out,

"All right, John?" to the room at large.

"Ahh," John purred from near the fire place where he was stoking the last embers of the evening's fire, a fresh log just starting to catch.

"It's lovely of you to ask. I love that you've thought to ask me, but, yes, when you're ready, Sherlock, - my dear friend, do please shag my wife until she cries."

Sherlock didn't wait for the completion of the sentence, and started moving slowly, but firmly and deeply into Molly, who for her part, now with a little ability to move, bucked her hips almost uncontrollably, already with tears running down her face, and was gone in about ten more strokes, with a light yelp, and lay beneath Sherlock, riding out the final spasms of her pleasure.

"Ahh, sorry about that," said John, now somewhere in the area of the sofa. "She does that sometimes, right away like that, the build up, you know. Isn't it adorable? I love it, but really, don't take it personally – or _do_, as you will. Oh, I forget myself, you probably know all about it" He chuckled.

Sherlock's jaw was clenched tight and even in the dim light all of his muscles visibly taught and straining as he tried to keep a slow pace, waiting for Molly to come to herself again before taking his own pleasure.

"Ah, John, I don't know how long I can – "

"Well," said John's voice, now a little more strained, a little more hoarse, "Of course it would be lovely if you could wait for her a little and bring her off again, but Sherlock, really there's plenty of time to take care of her again later – and there are two of us after all, so – "

"Yes, uh, I—" Was all Sherlock could manage before his mind shut down and his body took over completely, thrusting hard and deep, now, quickly, now waiting a bit, but harder and harder as Molly seemed to come to herself again with Sherlock's now more athletic movements. She immediately struggled against him for friction to achieve a second climax. She could sense he was close and clamoured frantically for purchase, gripping his shoulder, and flank, and her sudden physical enthusiasm caught Sherlock off guard and pushed him to his release with a loud long groan and Molly followed almost immediately, panting "John" and "Sherlock," and "darling" and then crying out her release in a bit of a shriek. Sherlock collapsed on top of her, whispering her name and then rolled to one side as the pair panted there together, wordless for several moments.

"Incandescent," said Sherlock, finally.

"Sherlock, did you say 'incandescent?'"

"Yes, I think I did" He chuckled. "Are you ok?"

"Sherlock, oh god, yes, how can you ask? I've been missing you terribly. You're so lovely." She kissed him lightly, and stroked his cheek briefly. "But where did John go? John?" She called into the darkness.

"Hmm?" was the response, strained, and guttural. The couple could just glimpse the doctor, naked now, on the sofa. He was stroking himself, his head thrown back and didn't look as if he would last too much longer.

"Oh, John, love," said Molly, and getting up, scampered over to him just in time to bury her head against him, taking his length in her mouth. John cried out a short series of 'ah's,' and was spent. Molly kissed her way up the length of his body to his mouth, smoothing his hair and kissing his neck. She curled up next to him on the sofa, and then called to the pool of light that remained around the table, where Sherlock was now sitting up on the duvet.

"Come, Sherlock."

He stood up, reaching for the duvet on the floor, then walked over to the recumbent couple on the sofa.

"Come to my bed," he beckoned his friends. "John?"

"Hmmm? Yes of course, here we go." John rose, and the trio herded themselves into Sherlock's room, and arranged themselves in his bed under the duvet.

"That was lovely, you two," said John, "Brava, well done, Molly dear, are you all right?" Molly purred her contentment.

"And, Sherlock, are you – urm, ok? I guess we didn't scare you off?"

"Hardly," Sherlock smiled into Molly's shoulder.

"Good. We were pretty sure we'd read the situation correctly. So, we have, have we?"

"I think so, John. I am – that is, I _have_ been –" Sherlock couldn't finish.

"We can talk about it later." Said John. "We're not going anywhere."

"Yes," Sherlock said, "I mean no – that is, yes, we can talk later, and no, please don't– go anywhere."


	2. Morning After

_**(So - here it is the new chapter, on time - that's a first! Thanks for peeking in at my next installment, here - I don't own BBC Sherlock - I'm just trying to have some fun, you know the deal - Also wanted to say that I have several more chapters - some are already completed, I'm just kinda fixing them up - I'm doing my own editing, so no beta here - please tell me all my mistakes, I really want to hear 'em - Would LOVE to have some reading and reviewing if you have time! Thanks!)**_

Morning After -

Sherlock woke with a start and found himself looking into Molly's smiling and somewhat _smug_ face. Images of the events of the evening before flooded into his mind and they were accompanied by the damned _emotional anxiety_ again. Down, he tried to push it down, and his interior struggle must have been broadcast on his face because Molly's expression was suddenly concerned, though still smiling.

"What is it? Something wrong?"

"No, no," He answered, taking her in his arms, mostly just so she wouldn't see his face as he tried to compose it, contain it. It was too much to process just now. Mornings were very bad for him, usually, and now, _this_ sort of thing. And with _these particular people_ involved. At uni he'd always hurried out before his partners had had a chance to waken. How had Molly beaten him to it? How was he going to do a runner _out of his own flat_? And the anxiety, the _anxiety_ was mounting inside him, how was he going to manage?

"Where's John?" He asked, as he didn't see or sense him in the bed.

"Gone out for coffee. He's gone to _buy_ it, and then," she said rubbing her face against his cheek and neck in a way that was not going to let him ignore her, "Then, he's going to come back and _make_ it for us. Isn't he good?"

"Mmmm," Sherlock answered, nuzzling her hair and neck, but holding back, refraining from returning the caresses and kisses she was beginning to give him.

"Yes, yes, he is. Um, Molly?"

"Yes?"

"I have to – um –"

"Loo?"

"Um – " That worked. "Yes, excuse me." He untangled himself from her, and grabbing a dressing gown from the chair, made his way into the sitting room. He stood there for a moment in an utter panic for what to do.

_Loo. Right._ He fairly ran into the bathroom, and found a pair of trousers and shirt that he normally would have laundered before wearing again. Instead, he found himself struggling into the clothes with a desperation that made him giggle, it so reminded him of more than one occasion at school. _This is absurd, _ he thought. _Last night was something I want to do over and over again. What's this panic?_ But he couldn't put it down, he had to get out and _breathe_ some _air.  
_Waking with Molly in such close proximity and with her immediate and close scrutiny hadn't helped, either.

He looked at himself in the mirror. There was a stain on the shirt, small, but at any other moment, completely unacceptable. He left it on. Why did his left eye look larger than his right? His hair was beyond help. He splashed his face with cold water, and this did not help him at _all_. The panic rose in his throat, strangling him. He took a couple deep breaths. No. This is not working. This is not _working!_

_Shoes?_ He wondered. His usual pair were in the – in the – sitting room? He padded into the room and quickly located them. He shoved his feet into them sockless, then grabbed his coat and scarf. What about Molly? What about _John?_ Surely he could just pop his head into the bedroom and just say to Molly, oh, something like, oh, he could just say um – _forget it, forget it, get out GET OUT, _his brain screamed, and he lurched toward the door, and made it half way down the stair case before John popped in the door at the bottom with carrier bags from Safeway. He smiled as he made his way up the first few steps.

"What's up? I've already got some coffee and other stuff. Oh." John looked at him, and immediately recognized the male instinct to run.

"John, please forgive me, _please_ – Um – I just need to – get some air."

"It's perfectly all right, please don't worry. Molly and I will have some coffee and get out of here, ok? Gone in an hour." John patted his arm.

"All right, but I – I don't mean to be awkward, I wanted to tell you that it was – it was so, um _so_ - it's just – um – it's just that I can't seem to – that is I _need _ to - "

"I completely understand, and so will Molly. I promise, we'll be gone within the hour," John tried to pass him on the stair, but Sherlock caught his shoulders, gripping them hard, and whirled John around to face him.

"Don't – John – you and Molly, _Please - _don't leave London."

"What!?" John laughed, as Sherlock released him, and bolted down the stairs.

"We'll be at home. Call me whenever you feel like it," John got out, before Sherlock banged out the door and into the street.

The morning air hit him like a blessing complete with diesel and fog. He sucked it into his lungs in big gulps, all the while shaking his head, rubbing his hair and face with his hands. He stopped and looked around him to get his bearings. He made a decision, walked to the high street, and then headed for Regent's Park. He kept his pace brisk, his hands deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched, as if he were on the lam. When had he last had a brisk walk for its own sake, he wondered? He couldn't remember. But who cared? He had quite enough exercise doing the leg work on his cases. He started to relax a little, but managed to keep his pace brisk, and commenced his game of deducing people on the street with as little time as possible as they passed him in the street.

_Mother of two recently promoted at her office job late for work angry with her new boss; handy man in the park annoyed with new duties at this end of the park for some reason trouble with the wife or she's completely left him; college student had sex for the first time ever with her new boyfriend didn't like it much or doesn't like him much or both; professional man and wife married couple pushing a pram – wait._ He stopped.

The couple looked up at him. He smiled and nodded at them and took his phone from his coat pocket pretending to answer a call as he watched the couple pass him on the walk. He took them in. Conventional. Acceptable. Liberal politics. No, liberal _leaning_. Middle class. Chanel here, Armani there, but mostly Marks & Spencer. He managed to glimpse a peek at the baby. Round face. Completely round with black eyes like holes into another universe. Alien. Tiny hands grasping out. Blue blanket. _Their whole lives are mapped out for them,_ he thought. Certainly there would be bumps along the road. There always were, but these two – He must be - probably a barrister or financial something or other. And she – _stay at home mum._ How charming. How antediluvian. Sherlock allowed himself to imagine it for a moment, his gorge rising. _This can never be my life, __**will**__ never be_, he thought. His certainty was so complete, he almost felt a tinge of regret at the utter impossibility of ever having these experiences for himself. _Almost_ felt it, but not quite. He felt the tension in his shoulders abate, and he was able to roll them back and lift his neck up and out of the strained panicked hold in which he'd held it since running out of the flat.

He continued his walk, freer, more confident, less frenetic, less hunted. But the anxiety remained, though now it rose up in his chest and neck as something new, something different. _Now, _the anxiety seemed to be about having possibly offended John and Molly with his puerile behaviour this morning. _No, not possible._ John's reaction to him on the stair was one of forbearance and even humour. John would explain things to Molly and she would understand. They both _knew_ him, too, they would know and understand what he was going through at this moment. He could explain it to them and they would _accept _him and his actions without comment. Why didn't the sound of this nauseate him anymore? When did something like this become a comfort and not a subject of derision? _Last night?_ This was too much. He stopped at the thought. He stopped himself from running back to them that very moment. _No, not yet._ _I need more time._

The park lay all around him now. Trees, grass, railings, walkways. He passed a café, and slowing his brisk clip, took out his phone again to answer an another fake phone call – it was, he found, an easily put on cover to allow him to observe behaviours. Even from a very close distance, he found, people would accept him staring into space, or even into their very faces, as long as he maintained an air of concentration with his phone to his ear. A younger couple sitting near the window in the café was Sherlock's target. The vitrine kept Sherlock from being able to hear the actual words the two young people spoke, but that was no matter. He could tell that the young man doted on his blond, leggy companion, and she doted back. They were smiling broadly at one another engaged in a laughing disagreement about something. After a few moments of the exchange in which Sherlock determined that the matter was serious enough, but not serious enough to have a spat over, the young man dipped his head, and offered his hand, palm up, conceding the point to his female companion, though it was obvious to Sherlock that the man held no conviction that her opinion was correct. _Never happen,_ thought Sherlock, and walked on.

He couldn't engage in these pleasantries that made society work. He had no place in it, had he? In – oh, in society. And he'd done perfectly well enough without it until now. What was the question? What was the concern? Where was all this anxiety coming from? How had John and Molly soothed him so? Last night had been so - _so very - oh god. _ He walked on, resuming his brisk pace.

Emotional entanglement. _Run._ That was his instinct at uni, and the trigger for that instinct was what he was acting on, now, he saw. But it didn't feel right. Uni was long finished. And now this horrible anxiety had been quelled when John and Molly – when they had – when they were - _oh Christ. _

The images of the night before came to him again in his mind's eye. Even as he walked here in public, he could feel the anguish abate, he could feel Molly's touch and John's voice – liniments against the fear, the torment of – What? What _was_ it? _Loneliness? Good lord when had this happened? _The 18 months in hiding came back to him again. It had to be faced, it had to be accepted, relaxed into? Damaged? Was he damaged, now? _Emotionally _damaged?

He focused his mind on the last case. There had been no problem. It seemed to him that he'd solved it in a reasonable period of time. John and he had gotten along well enough with only the usual disagreements, he had ultimately been an enormous help, as usual. Molly had been her usual helpful self when they'd visited the lab a few times. Nothing different there. So, he was able to focus on cases. He looked back at his last few cases. All fine. No problems. The anxiety wasn't interfering with his work. He took a breath. Just get used to it – this unsettling feeling,? This loneliness? Just get _used_ to it? _What the hell for?_ Sherlock thought, and quite surprised himself.

He allowed the night's events to flash before him again. They came more easily, more fluidly than before. The dizziness that he'd experienced in those first moments as Molly, lovely Molly began touching his hair and face, came back to him, and he slowed his brisk clip to a more comfortable, easy pace. The ease and generosity with which John and Molly had offered themselves to him both embarrassed and chastened him. But as strange as the arrangement would certainly have seemed in other circles, he found that he wasn't able to reject them, as he was sure he would have in the not at all distant past. It was simply too completely _good_. It was simply too helpful and lovely and _sweet_. It was simply too much of exactly what he needed and wanted right now in his life.

"For as long as you want," John had said. And did he speak for Molly? She had seemed content to let him speak for her the other night. But how long could they really allow him, he wondered? How long could they make room in their lives for him in this way? Bohemia was a long way off, and wasn't at all what he, or John or Molly were from, or born to or – or what? It was a hard question he would have to find out about. He knew they would be able to hurt him at some point. But, Sherlock saw, if he, himself needed space and time, or if he couldn't handle the situation at some point, or if it simply were to stop working and he and took himself out of the equation of three, Molly and John would have one another to turn to again. The damage could potentially be fairly minimal. The elegance of the situation unfolded itself to him. At the same time, he could not foresee a moment when he'd want to end such an association. And the notion of hurting either of his friends in any way was abhorrent to him. _John and Molly. Molly and John. _The idea was all so _new_, so beautifully complex and _interesting_. And just weird enough to be quite, _quite_ up his street.

Speaking of which, he found he'd done quite a walk indeed, and was now turning into Baker Street quite near the flat. He entered the street door, bounded up the stairs, and found that, true to his word, John and Molly had had some coffee, the signs of which were all over the kitchen, though it had been cleaned thoroughly, and left the place. Empty and lonely again. He sat in his chair. _Unbearable. Boring. Unbearable. Boring. Unbearable. Boring. _The remnants of the evening's meal had been gotten rid of almost thoroughly, and there were no obvious indications that the pair had been there, but he saw all of the not-so-obvious ones, and _remembered_ again. He relaxed, stretching his legs, once again letting each image of the evening appear on its own before him, and then dissolve into another. He nodded off, drifting pleasantly in and out of sleep for an hour or so.

He glanced at the clock. Already two o'clock. He pulled out his phone and quickly typed a message to the happy couple.

_Dinner, we three? Angelo's. 7 pm tonight?_

_SH_

John quickly responded.

_Are you sure? No rush._

_- J_

Sherlock responded quickly as well.

_Perfectly._

_SH_

Molly next:

_How lovely. See you there. _

_MH. _

And John finally.

_We'll be there._

_- J_

Sherlock quickly made a reservation. When he clicked off, the anxiety came in deadly earnest in the form of a very real, very impossible tension throughout his entire body. It felt as though he'd been lifting weights all day. It felt as though he were lifting weights _right now._ He threw himself on the sofa and tried to calm himself. Then he thought of his kit, hidden under the floor boards. There was a tiny bundle of white powder, as well, he knew. How had it escaped notice? Oh, yes – John had found the _other_ kit after an exhaustive week long search, and was satisfied that he'd cleaned the place properly for good and all and knew all the hiding places. Ha! Even told Mycroft about it, who had appeared quite satisfied as well. Don't these people know with whom they are dealing? He should really get rid of the kit and the drug himself, Sherlock thought, but he'd kept it on principle. No, no, _no_, not at all what he wanted – not at all what he craved. He knew what that was now. Finally. _Contact. Human contact. _ Molly. John. Wait, _John?_

The matter of John in the equation of three was an extremely interesting point for Sherlock. What on earth did _John_ get out of this arrangement, he wondered? Besides to assuage a guilt that he proclaimed to have. Sherlock didn't doubt the veracity of his friend's stated need, but wondered what _else_, what other _needs_ he found he had in relation to Sherlock and Molly. Sherlock had certainly found it interesting that John had completely taken the lead in last night's activities. And that Sherlock himself was content, interested and happy to _follow._ Very surprising, that had been he items in and of themselves had been sexually stimulating. And was there to be other contact with John besides his voyeurism, he wondered? He found that he was exceedingly interested to find out.

John and Molly met Sherlock at Angelo's as planned and dinner passed pleasantly with no mention of the morning, or previous evening until the coffee came. Sherlock cleared his throat. Man and wife glanced briefly at one another and smiled patiently as Sherlock visibly prepared himself, collected himself. He spoke slowly, with care.

"I wanted to apologize - to both of you for my – ah, behavior - this morning."

"Nothing to apologize for, Sherlock," said Molly and John simultaneously.

Sherlock cleared his throat again.

"Nevertheless – please - forgive me? It was very childish."

"Of course," said John. Molly was silent, but smiled in patient agreement.

"Then, too, I wanted to – _thank_ you - _both_ – for last night. It was – most – ah – diverting." He paused, and then "- and it was also quite – um -"

"Wait, sorry - diverting?" John smiled. "Are you saying that you had _fun_ last night, Sherlock?"

"I believe I just did say that, yes, John," said Sherlock, a little put out at the interruption.

"Well, that's good, that's good." John tried to quell his impulse to laugh out loud.

"Shut it, John," Molly hushed. "You were saying, Sherlock?"

"Yes – um – it was also – I found that it was, I mean that_ I_ was -"

Molly and John were silent and still as Sherlock found the words.

"I found that I was quite – ah – _moved. _Quite moved_._"

"Ah," said John. "So was I - so was I. And Molly – "

"So was I, Sherlock, dear." said Molly, reaching out for Sherlock's hand.

The table was quiet then. Sherlock breathed a deep sigh, squeezing Molly's hand back. John reached out and took his wife's other hand in his and kissed it, making eye contact with Sherlock.

"So, shall we – ah – walk you to yours, after coffee, Sherlock? That is, since we're not going to be leaving _London_ – at least not tonight. Ahaha." John and Molly exchanged a smile, and Sherlock joined them.

"That would be most agreeable," was his response.

* * *

Molly lit the candles on the mantel. John went to the kitchen and poured three glasses of port. The port was passed around and sipped and there was easy, simple conversation about Angelo's, an interesting shouting woman they'd passed in the street and then some minutia of new hospital policy at Bart's that would make all of their jobs slightly less convenient in some small ways. John and Molly arranged themselves on the sofa with their glasses, smiling up at their friend. Sherlock remained standing, regarding them over his drink,dreamily content to look at them for now. Content, happy, ec_sta_tic to just _look_ at them and let John (or was it John _and _Molly?) lead and set the pace.

Then something remarkable happened. Sherlock blushed. He felt it at his throat at first, and then it flashed up into his face. The heat spread down his chest, he knew, and across his shoulders, but, he thought gratefully, those parts of him weren't visible at the moment. He saw the blush reflected in the expressions of his friends, as they smiled and held his gaze. He put a hand to his face.

"No, please don't – " said Molly. "Oh, how lovely you are."

Sherlock made an effort and was able to bring his hand away from his face, and straighten his head, smiling marginally as he did so, but kept his eyes lowered.

"If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes – " John began, but mercifully ended the cliché there. They were all still for a few more moments, and then John addressed his friend.

"Want to sit down? Why not, um, sit across, yes directly across from us, can you pull up a chair?" Sherlock looked around. If he'd known he would be moving furniture this evening perhaps he should have worn other clothes. _No, no, that's no way to treat the guests, _he thought_ – find the chair. What chair? Which one is right? What does he want, what does he mean? _He looked to John.

"Get a comfy chair, Sherlock, your one, or mine, hmm? Need help?" John made a movement as if to rise.

"No, no. I've got it." His hand gesture stopped John's getting up, and Sherlock managed to shift the chair into position.

When he looked up from his efforts, John and Molly were engaged in a relaxed but ardent embrace.

"It's all right, sit down, relax," John directed quietly with a relaxed hand gesture, almost rhetorically, and Sherlock followed, sitting across from the sofa in the his chair. He watched as the couple kissed, and held one another, how John stroked Molly's cheek, and then her breast, how he breathed in her scent at the neck. Then John pulled away from Molly and looked into her eyes, smiling and murmured a question. She smiled and nodded her head. John collected her port glass from her, and set his own and hers on a side table. Molly crawled into John's lap with her back against him, facing Sherlock, her legs straddling John's, her arms relaxed at her sides. Sherlock's breath staggered for a moment, but he maintained his bearing, he thought. His port was still in his hand, half empty. He drank the rest in one go, and managed to put the empty glass on a side table as well.

John continued to nuzzle Molly's neck and then his hands rode up to her breasts, and he cupped and pressed into them, while Molly held Sherlock's gaze. Sherlock could see that her impulse was to close her eyes into the pleasure of John's touch, but she struggled to maintain eye contact with Sherlock.

John began to unbutton Molly's blouse, leaving the garment in place the way he did the night before. A familiar moment in largely unfamiliar territory, Sherlock noted gratefully. John unclasped Molly's bra from behind, and looked at his friend.

"Sherlock? Maybe your chair could be a little closer, hmm?" Sherlock hauled the chair a few inches closer to the seated couple.

"Remember this?" asked John. Sherlock noticed that John continued to keep command and directness out of his voice. Sherlock reached to Molly's shoulders and gently pushed the garment down her back, and off her arms. He slowly did the same with her bra.

"Thank you," John smiled at Sherlock and immediately took Molly's breasts in his hands, pressing his face into her naked skin, now quietly humming his appreciation. Then he slid his hands to Molly's sides, and looked at Sherlock, cocking an eyebrow with some humour. Sherlock leaned forward. He gripped Molly's knees as they straddled John, and kissed her mouth. Lightly at first, and then more deeply as she hungrily accepted him, her hands in his hair, massaging and gently pulling. _Molly, Molly, _he thought, _you've both made me feel sooooo - let me do that for you, I'll do that for you now, please, please let me -_

Sherlock tried to quell his ridiculous thoughts as his hands slid up under Molly's skirt to her hips, feeling her silky pants there. He hooked his thumbs into them, pulling, encouraging her to lift her hips up, which she did. He slipped the lacy undergarment slowly down her legs, and pulled each foot out slowly, removing each of her shoes at the same time. He looked up. Molly's face was flushed and her breathing was rapid and increased with a hitch as Sherlock slid his hands up her legs, pushing her skirt slowly up over her knees, up to her thighs. It was light and loose, a flowing, cottony thing that offered little resistance. John was kneading Molly's breasts in his hands again, kissing and nuzzling her neck, holding her steadily against him. Sherlock continued slowly but inexorably pushing her skirt up and up until her sex was completely exposed, and the skirt was tucked up over her hips.

Sherlock took in the sight of her, of both of them. Molly's eyes were glazed over and half lidded, and John's hands continued to grip, and hungrily tease her breasts, her nipples. He looked up and Sherlock and gave him a small smile of approval and returned his attentions to Molly's breasts and neck and hair. Molly's hips and thighs visibly quivered in anticipation, and her sex, completely exposed, was visibly wet. Her legs were spread wide, straddling John's, and her sex was beginning to open, exposing her pinker folds which stood in contrast to her darker outer flesh and curls. Sherlock lowered his mouth to her mound, and simply breathed in her scent. Then slowly he began lightly kissing her, spreading her legs wider, pushing her knees apart slowly with his hands.

"Please, _please – " _Molly moaned straining to press against his mouth. John chuckled softly, humming his pleasure as she writhed against him.

Sherlock knelt between her legs, both John's _and_ Molly's legs, he thought, and ran his mouth inside her thigh raking his teeth experimentally along the inner softer skin and she made a loud moan. He finally pressed his mouth to her open sex, slowly pressing his tongue as deeply inside her as he could, and she started to move against him immediately struggling to press against his mouth, moaning and keening in earnest.

The last time Sherlock had ventured into this particular realm had been more than ten years prior when he was a couple years out of university. He couldn't remember her name. It had been a disaster, as he had no idea what she'd wanted, or how to proceed. There had been no communication about anything. She'd simply pushed his head away from her legs, laughing, and started to dress. She'd left quickly leaving Sherlock to his humiliation.

Sherlock chuckled into Molly at the thought of it now, as he slowly pressed two fingers into her, and heard her gasp, and cry out his name, and then John's. What he lacked in actual experience, he found he could often make up in good solid research and old fashioned confidence. He began to slowly increase the pressure of his tongue against that tiny particular spot, while he paced his fingers' thrusting more and more quickly. He was rewarded with all kinds of new sounds and movement from Molly, mostly, he thought, directing him to continue to do exactly what he was doing. When she finally came, she arched her back up off of John, who was able to balance her carefully and keep her from falling off the sofa. John continued to hold and stroke her, as she lay back against him, the last spasms of her pleasure washing over her.

Sherlock rose and leaned in between John's and Molly's knees and kissed Molly deeply. He placed his hands on top of John's, managing to press and tease her nipples a little at the same time that John did. Then Sherlock leaned in with his mouth, and sucked one of her breasts through John's fingers. John didn't remove his hand, but after the two men made eye contact, John looked away somewhat diffidently.

_What did that mean? _Sherlock thought. Here John has brought all this together, brought us to this very particular moment, but he's _shy_ with me? Sherlock tried to make eye contact again with John as Sherlock held his hands over Molly's breasts and John's hands, but only Molly looked up into his face, smiling languidly, openly, while John nuzzled Molly's neck. _Or is he averting his gaze from mine?_ Sherlock was completely hooked now. Oh, we're going to find out all about this, he thought. But there's plenty of time. No need to make anyone uncomfortable. Not tonight.

Sherlock stroked Molly's cheek and as she came slowly back to herself she looked up at Sherlock and held his gaze for a moment.

"That was beyond lovely," she said with a smile, and Sherlock was grateful that she didn't say 'thank you.'

Now John looked up into Sherlock's face with his usual open expression. _He's quite returned to himself,_ Sherlock thought. John stroked Molly's sides lightly, still giving her light kisses and nuzzling her neck. John smiled at Sherlock and said

"Take off your clothes?" John's inflection was upward making a command into a question that wasn't a question. Molly vocalized her approval.

"Mmmm, yes, please do. But don't make a show."

"Oh, ahaha, no, it's not a show, Sherlock. Just relax and – you know."

"Yes, of course," Sherlock's voice was a little hoarse as he moved to comply. He felt the heat at his throat again and it seemed to be following the same spreading pattern it had earlier in the evening, but neither his friend nor his wife commented on it, though Sherlock felt their eyes locked on him as he removed his shirt. _It must be visible, even in this candle_ _light_, he thought. He put the thought aside as he toed off his shoes, and shucked off his trousers, pants and socks almost in one go. He stood, then, naked, his erection completely hard and bobbing.

"Have a seat, hmmm, relax, ok?" said John. "Oh, hmm, that leather chair must be cold. Molly?" John released his grip on her and Molly slowly slid to the floor on her knees and leaned forward with a facial expression that was nothing short of obscene. She half fell, half leaned in between Sherlock's legs and put her arms around his waist, sliding her mouth down the length of him slowly but surely, as far as she was able. She started to suck him, and work her tongue up and down his shaft, and then swirling over the helmet of him probing his opening with her tongue. He laced his fingers into her hair as gently as he could, as he tried to control the tension mounting in his entire body. How was it that there didn't seem to be a single muscle in his body that wasn't straining for control or release? He couldn't help but move against her almost immediately, but he controlled himself from bucking against her too hard.

John was standing over them now his face relaxed but now somewhat serious. He was taking off his trousers and shoes, now his shirt, putting the clothing to the side of the sofa. He knelt behind Molly, reverently stroking her hips, reaching his palms up her back, and looking at Sherlock the whole time. He used his knees to wedge Molly's legs farther apart, and then again a little farther apart, all the while rubbing her hips and back. When he was satisfied that she was spread wide enough, He took his length in his hand and pressed into her. He was slow and careful, but didn't stop, and his pressure and penetration made Molly moan, humming onto Sherlock's cock.

Sherlock moaned in response to this development, and then John was moving, and moaning and the room filled with the sound of their trio. John set a slow pace at first which could never last, but he quickly began to increase speed, losing control little by little. As he strained for control, but failed, John continued to stroke Molly's hips, grasping at them, and rubbing his palms up and down her back as she labored between Sherlock's legs. Sherlock's hands alternately gripped Molly's hair and ran along her shoulder blades as he felt his climax rising. The two men's hands met suddenly on Molly's back and they locked and held one another's gaze, as they strained harder and harder, faster and faster into Molly. They came together, John shouting Molly's name, squeezing his eyes shut, and straining hard against her, pulling her hips against him almost a little too forcefully. When Sherlock saw John go, it triggered him over the edge as well, but instead of Molly's name he let out a deep guttural,

"_John."_

Sherlock collapsed back into the chair, still stroking Molly's head as she slowly released his length from her mouth, swallowing. John recovered in a moment, and leaned back onto the sofa, bringing Molly with him. He found her sex and rubbing, and probing her there, finally brought her off to the climax she hadn't completed when he'd finished. There was nothing but quiet heavy breathing in the room for some few minutes. Molly broke the silence.

"I thought this was just going to be something simple and sweet, tonight, John? How did this get so complex and utterly exhausting, will you look at the time? It's nearly one." Molly admonished as she picked up her clothes.

"Sherlock upped the ante when he went for your pants. I thought he'd go for your breasts when I took off your shirt, but he just slipped right past me, darling. I'm sure you'll forgive us, hmm, Molly?" John smiled, getting up from the sofa.

"It was absolutely beautiful, I have no complaints at all, except that I thought we would be asleep by 10 or 11 tonight, and I have to be up at – "

"Shhhhh, has Sherlock passed out?"

"No, I'm fine," Sherlock got up from the chair.

"My room, yes? Come to my bed." Sherlock kissed Molly on the head, "Sorry if we wore you out," he said in her ear, leading her, and then called to his friend,

"John?"

"Coming. Oh, right. Does this mean you're in love with me, Sherlock? Hmmm? You called my name when you came, you know. Are you trying to tell me something?"

Sherlock turned, smiling and got in John's personal space, suddenly grasping the back of his neck.

"Maybe I am, John." Sherlock looked deeply into his friend's eyes.

"Ahaha," was all John could say as Sherlock leaned in as though he were going to kiss him, and watched his friend duck away.

"Hmm. That's what I thought." Sherlock smiled. "We'll have to see about that. I don't know if that will do at all. Do you? Do you, John?"

John smiled but made no answer.

_**(Please read and review if you have time - Or just say 'hi,' in the review section - That works! Next update on Sunday 01.27.13)**_


	3. Orange Juice (a first)

A Glass of Orange Juice

"You're talking too much, John," Molly panted as she approached her climax, Sherlock's tongue on her, and two of his fingers deep inside her and pumping.

"Oh, sorry, love, _here_," John said, lowering his head to hers, kissing her and then leaning closer down, he took one of her nipples in his teeth and bit and sucked gently, briefly making eye contact with Sherlock, whose eyes were completely glazed over with his own need. Sherlock sped up the pace of his tongue and fingers as he sensed Molly was coming approaching the beginning of the end.

John had been expostulating somewhat on his own voyeurism, not talking to anyone in particular, merely thinking aloud when Molly admonished him. When did these two get to this stage of arousal, he wondered? He really needed to try to stay in the moment more, this was a little surprising, being so completely off in his own mind, when his wife and friend were so – so invitingly worked up. It's very interesting, John thought, the great cerebral man, Sherlock Holmes seemed to have no trouble at all giving himself up to the moment when the time came. "It's partly because of your influence, John, that I can," Sherlock had told him once while the two had discussed the matter on one occasion. But he himself, the doctor ruminated, had more trouble in that department – He wondered if it was the medical objectivity he'd developed in his training, but he rejected that notion. Plenty of doctors having sex, he reckoned, giving themselves up to the moment and all. Molly had no troubles. Left over symptoms of the war? PTSD constellation? He wasn't sure.

"Unh, unh, unh, oh, god, oh, god, oh, god," Molly was almost there, he saw, and as Sherlock pumped his hand in and out of her, John helped as he could by plunging his tongue deep in his wife's mouth, fairly swallowing her sweet moans and effectively helping to bring her to her finale in the process.

"Ahh," Sherlock smiled, as he hauled himself to Molly's level, kissing her and purring into her neck. "Lovely, Molly, lovely." And Molly purred back, "Sherlock, Sherlock, please –" and here she parted her legs further, bending her knees, trying to wrap herself around Sherlock's waist, but Sherlock turned to his friend first.

"John?" asked Sherlock.

"Hmm? Oh, please, you go ahead, whenever you like, , I'm . . . um, fine."

"Oh, John." Molly sighed, "Can't you come over to me and just let me – ahhhhh!" She finished her thought with a deeply appreciative sigh as Sherlock, having swiftly donned a condom, entered her smoothly, but rather quickly. Then he was kissing her neck, smoothing her hair and murmuring sweet things and her name into her ears and hair.

"Yes, I know, I do this a lot, don't I?" asked John.

"Yes, you do," Sherlock responded, "You do at times when - well at times like this, and then you complain to me when you think that I am – uh – uh, ah." Sherlock's sentence didn't quite resolve.

"I don't know what it is – Am I - am I? . . ."

"Are you bored or something?" Molly wondered aloud. "We've only been married a year, and now Sherlock is – ah, Sherlock, ah, Sherlock . . ."

"Bored? God no!" John said and he could feel a flush run up his legs, making his cock semi hard as Sherlock began to work Molly in earnest, one of her knees over his shoulder as he usually did. Their love noises were getting more urgent, more heated and John absently took his own length in his hand and began to slowly stroke himself in time with Sherlock's thrusts.

"Sherlock, he's doing it again, nah, nah, nah," Molly observed, flushed all over and heading over the edge for the third – or was it the fourth time this evening? The joined couple slowed somewhat and regarded John who was sitting just out of reach on the bed.

"Come to me, love," said Molly, "let me – "

"It's not a contest, dears," said John, "Don't worry about it, It's not this big problem you seem to…"

Sherlock reached for John's foot, but the doctor managed to move away in time. Sherlock gave John a wry grin, and then gave himself over to Molly and his climax was particularly long and vocal. Almost immediately, however, he rolled off Molly, leaned over to John, and grasped him firmly by the ankle, hauling him closer.

"No, no, that's not necessary, wait, you don't have to – Ah, oh, god, oh _god, Sherlock!_" John protested.

"Do shut up, John," said Sherlock, gripping the smaller man's thighs, and added with an impish smile, "and try not to struggle _too_ much," as he took John's length into his mouth almost to the hilt, and began to work his mouth up and down slowly.

John gasped and yelped at the contact.

Sherlock's touch almost immediately brought back for John the memory of boyhood experiments and fantasies. At the same time John's head practically exploded with embarrassment – humiliation? But why? Sherlock had no problem with this, why did he?. John had never had an adult man touch him this way or indeed in any way that was remotely sexual, and he didn't want – didn't care to find out –_ah, what?_ He didn't know, but it just couldn't be what he wanted, could it? Once he'd caught his breath after Sherlock's initial onslaught, he did struggle, trying to push away the dark curly head, trying to pull himself away from Sherlock, to his former place on the bed, but Sherlock had much too strong a hold on John's legs and hips to be easily shoved aside.

"That's right," Sherlock looked up at John, smiling, "Struggle a little, but not enough to get away," and then he returned to his task." Molly was next to John, now, holding his arms, and forcing him to lie back, kissing him, stroking his chest, gently pinching his nipples.

"We want to be _with you_, love." She paused and frowned. "But we don't want to force you, John dear. Are we?"

Sherlock stopped and looked up.

"Oh, god, I hadn't thought of that - are we, John? Am I forcing you?" He asked.

John's voice was barely audible.

"No."

Sherlock smiled.

"Please say the whole sentence, John, so we're sure, all right? I need to hear you say it." John paused and swallowed hard.

"No, you're not forcing me. But if I could just -"

Sherlock immediately continued his attentions to John's throbbing erection and John gasped in the rest of the sentence he was forming.

Molly purred against John's mouth in a kiss. John tried to speak, but she hushed him.

"Shhhh, that's all right, don't speak, just relax, hmmm? I love you." At this she glanced at Sherlock who raised his eyebrows to her, in a complicit smile, and then began to _hum_ onto John's cock.

"Wh—ahhhhhhhh, oh, god," John was starting to babble a little when Molly knelt up on the bed, and looked down at her husband, and John opened his eyes to look up at her. She was an angel, he thought. Her hair was loose, and fell down the front of her body, practically covering her small but absolutely adorable breasts. Her dark triangle below was wet and mussed, he smiled. He reached for her.

"Doing all right, then?" Molly asked, smiling. Do you think you could - ?" She lifted a knee and straddled her husbands face, slowly and gently pressing her sex to his mouth.

"Oh, Molly," he said, reaching to her with his mouth, tonguing her, then kissing her, then biting and sucking. "My darling," he thought, since speech was now not an option, "my lovely wife." Sherlock was now stroking John with his hand and John heard Molly and Sherlock exchange sloppy kisses and moans somewhere out there, where there was light. And air. But only briefly, as suddenly, with a shift in weight on the bed, John felt Sherlock's mouth on his cock again as he started to lick and suck him with even more enthusiasm than before, still stroking the base of John's cock with his hand. It took only a few more of Sherlock's firm, expert strokes before John grasped his wife's hips, pulling her cunt to his face for dear life when he came as he never had in memory. He cried out unrecognizable syllables as he began to empty himself into Sherlock's mouth, then he blacked out completely.

* * *

John came to slowly. His eyes were heavy, impossibly heavy, and he couldn't seem to lift them, but he could hear and there was whispering. The tone was very concerned then relieved.

"Oh, thank god," John recognized Molly's voice. And then a soft baritone,

"I _told _you, for godssake, Molly, shhhhh, don't worry. Now, he's just come to, don't shout in his _ear, _let him _breathe_ a little." John felt some fumbling about on the bed somewhere, as he continued to try to open his eyes.

"John, dear?" Molly was quite close to him, now speaking softly. "John, darling, can you – can you hear me?"

"Hmmm?" John seemed to answer, and Molly and Sherlock noticed a slight smile on his lips. Molly moved closer, and now she was stroking his head, smoothing his hair, and, wanting to reassure her, John added,

"Mmmmmm, Molly?"

"Yes, John, it's me, your Molly."

"All right, John?" Sherlock, the git. And he felt Sherlock's confident hand gently stroking John's upper arm.

_What on earth?_ John wondered. He managed to make his eyes open fully.

"Oh, darling, it's so good to see you open your eyes," said Molly. "Are you feeling ok? God, baby, you were out for 20 minutes."

"Mmmm," John heard himself reply, "M'fine."

"Of _course_ he was out for 20 minutes, I'm surprised he wasn't out for two or three _hours_!" John thought Sherlock sounded a little fake-indignant. Trying to cover his anxious concern for his friend? Sherlock continued,

"Have you forgotten about the amount of fluid he pumped all over me? I tried to get it, but my god, never, ever have I seen anything like it, John. It soaked me, _and_ the sheets!"

Molly giggled, "Yes," she said, "he had to shower. It wasn't at all normal, John. Oh, here, I got you a glass of orange juice, but just relax now, drink it when you're ready."

"M'fine," John felt pleasantly heavy, almost drugged, heavy but floating. Then he had a slight wave of unpleasant dizziness, as he recalled recent events.

"Oh, god," he said, remembering, "That was, that was – " and here he made eye contact with Sherlock and internally backed away from the facts. Sherlock had sucked him off to the single most astounding climax he had ever, _ever_ had with anyone, boy, woman or dog. But John wasn't really interested in talking about it. In the instant that the men made eye contact, Sherlock saw John's hesitancy, and quickly deflected the conversation again, aware of John's diffidence about touching him in bed. _So shy, thought Sherlock. What will I do to take care of that? _He filed the question under 'delightful future experiments.'

"John, you have no idea. Look. At. My. Sheets!" Here, the detective held up a corner of a sheet, elaborately soaked apparently with John's semen.

"Oh, fuck _off_, Sherlock, about the fucking _sheets_!" Molly hissed. Sherlock returned,

"I don't _care_ about the fucking _sheets, _Molly dear, _obviously_! I only point out the fucking sheets to demonstrate the outrageous amount of ejaculate the man managed to extrude. You should really drink that orange juice, John, you must be utterly dehydrated. I wasn't aware the human body could –"

"Just leave him alone with that, can't you?" Molly said more mildly, and then smiled, seeing that Sherlock was having more of a joke than worrying about his sheets.

John stretched his neck a bit, and could see them both properly, now. Sherlock had put on one of his dressing gowns, it hung loosely and open on his shoulders and he was completely naked underneath, but completely confident and unembarrassed in his bearing. Molly had one on too, but had tied the tie, looking a bit like a Geisha in a kimono whose hair had been combed out, her straight dark hair in two parts falling down her shoulders. The two were arguing back and forth, but were completely focused on John as they bickered. John took a couple of deep breaths, and then another more severe wave of dizziness hit him.

"Ummmm, I'm fine, really, you two. Ah, soaked the sheets, did I? Huh, sorry about that, Sherlock. Um, Molly, did you say you had a glass of –

"Orange juice," said Molly, "Here it is. Can you sit up?"

* * *

Now propped up in bed, John smiled at his friend and his wife as he nursed his second glass of juice (the first he had downed in one go). Sherlock and Molly had gotten him out of bed to quickly strip off the sheets and working in tandem, they put new ones on and had got John tucked up again into the now newly clean bed.

They told John what had happened. He'd shouted a lot of rubbish at the end, but then, Sherlock said, he'd very clearly yelled out "Who the fuck ARE you people?" before passing out.

"We thought that was hilarious," said Sherlock, "But then, you didn't wake up to be teased."

"No," said Molly, "And I was getting ready to call an ambulance. Another five minutes."

"Yes, and I couldn't have stopped her, she's _hysterical_, John when she wants to be, how do you put _up_ with her? 'Oh, John! _Speak_ to me, John!' It was like a _play _in a _theatre._" Then, Sherlock added in a lower tone, his arms clasped across his chest "but I was starting to get a little concerned."

"Sherlock." John said and simply smiled.

His friend and wife sat on either side of him in the bed, looking at him, blinking, expectant.

"Yes? What is it, John?" asked Sherlock. "Oh _god!_ Is it the _gay_ thing again?! Oh, let me see," Sherlock stroked the back of John's neck. "No, no, no one has embroidered '_bummer_,' on you as you were passed out from your incredible _orgasm_!" Sherlock stroked John's forehead, fingers in his hair brushing the pad of his thumb against the skin. "No, nothing here, either." He fake-whispered to Molly, "Oh, I know, let's check the bottoms of his feet!" And Sherlock reached for John's ankles.

"Get off, you idiot," John weakly kicked out at Sherlock's hands, smiling, and Molly squealed with glee, her laughter lilting up and then floating down naturally and languidly, leaving a contented silence around the three smiling friends. And then she stretched, and yawned elaborately. She was so beautiful, thought John. It was like watching a ballet when she moved. She smiled down at him, and then curled up at his side, her arm around his waist.

"That's just about all the excitement I can take for one day, thanks," she said, and then, "Sherlock, do you have the duvet?"

"Mmmm," he said, "Yes . . ." Sherlock stretched out next to John, carefully, as John kissed Molly on the top of her head. Though they had been sleeping together for some weeks, now, John had never allowed himself to end up in the middle of bed before. Sherlock noticed that the doctor had always surreptitiously scooted over or around someone, to keep Molly in the middle. As they settled in for the night, Sherlock wondered if John were just too tired to manage it this time, or if he were finally relaxing a bit. Then John turned to face his friend, and their eyes met. Sherlock's hand stroked his friend's upper arm, carefully, trying to keep things easy.

"Ok?" Sherlock asked, still looking a little concerned.

"I'm fine, just a little knocked out." John held Sherlock's gaze to finish his thought. "And. I should say – um – " And here John rubbed his eyes with his hand in embarrassment, but made a concerted effort to continue – "_that_ was amazing - my friend."

"Obviously," Sherlock smiled. They maintained silent eye contact for some seconds, and then Sherlock took John's empty glass from his hands, leaned down to the floor for the duvet, and with a flip of his arm covered them, all three, and then he turned out the light.


	4. Molly's Conference 012913

**Hi, all - A short sweet chapter before a much larger affair 'coming' on Thursday/Friday. **

**this one is rated K+ with implied Johnlock.  
**

Molly's Conference

Weekend, experiments in kitchen nearing completion or end of usefulness, need to be binned. _Molly and John, John and Molly._ Mrs. Hudson out for the weekend to see sister in country home long drive bad hip niece's car has no suspension Lestrade's wife cheating again with new man more investigation to be done when will he loose the habit of going back to her? _John and Molly, Molly and John_ Stanford in the lab just trying to be helpful no need to bite his head off Molly would not at all have approved father or protector figure much affection between them that endless arm touching and he gave her that plush doll for her birthday when I'd forgotten all about it _John and Molly, Molly and John. _

Sherlock bounded up the stairs to the flat at 221B, and entered. John.

"Hey," said John, reading a paper in his chair, a bottle of lager at his side. After briefly looking up at Sherlock, he returned to his paper, either unconcerned or simply unimpressed by Sherlock's presence.

"Hello." When there was no other move on the doctor's part, Sherlock at a lose for what to say or do, almost unwittingly emitted a small 'Oh.' The sound of the word was distinctly disappointed. John looked up, smiling broadly at his friend.

"Molly's on that conference this weekend, Sherlock."

Humiliated, Sherlock wheeled away from John's chair to the kitchen.

"Oh, yes of course," he said, chucking experiments into the bin.

"I told you all about it."

"Yes, yes, I remember, now, it must have slipped my mind."

"Hmmm," said John, grinning as he watched his friend's back recede into the kitchen. "Clearly," he murmured only to himself, grinning, waiting for the shoe to drop. The crashing and smashing in the kitchen continued for another moment or two, and then Sherlock paused. _If Molly is on a conference then what is __**John **__doing here? _He wandered carefully back into the sitting room, where John was still seated, apparently still very comfortably, very casually reading the paper.

"Yes," said Sherlock, drinking a bottle of water he'd gotten from the fridge. "the whole weekend. Coming back Sunday evening."

"That's right," John returned to his paper, smiling to himself as he noticed Sherlock step from foot to foot like a kid needing the loo. There were some moments of quiet. John turned a page of his paper.

"So, um, John?"

"Hmmm?"

"What are you – um – that is – you're welcome of course at any time, but ah – "

"What the hell am I doing here?" John smiled.

"Well, yes."

John paused, still hidden by his paper.

"Well, I thought . .."

Sherlock was frozen into silence. W_hat? What did you think? What are you thinking, what, what, what? Something delightful? Oh my god. _

"I thought, since I'd be sitting over at ours all – lonely – and you might be sitting or working here all – well, perhaps the same way – so – uh - ."

"Yes?" Sherlock managed.

"I thought maybe if you don't mind, you could – keep me company? While Molly's away? You don't have to entertain me or anything. Nothing like that – I can read the paper – I brought my laptop."

"Oh, I see," Sherlock was completely unable to mask his disappointed tone, but John, smiling behind his paper, made no remark about it.

"Yeah." John said.

Sherlock dropped himself into his chair next to John.

"Oh. I _see_. You. We – that is – we – just, um – just –"

"_Yes_, Sherlock, - _just-_" John tried to keep his tone kind.

"No, no," said Sherlock. "I think you misunderstand, I was _going_ to say 'Just like old times.'"

John lowered his paper and smiled.

"Yeah. Yeah, mate, just like old times. Before the wife got her hooks in me." John said, pulling a face.

"That would be – that will be - agreeable." Sherlock remained another moment in his chair, as John returned to his paper.

"Well, I don't mean to be an awkward host, John, but I have some stuff to accomplish this evening."

"Of course, of course, don't worry about me, I have plenty to do."

Sherlock busied himself in the kitchen tossing old experiments, monitoring the results of items in progress and starting new ones. There was a lovely chunk of mold with something absolutely fascinating growing in it that he'd harvested from the bin's behind Bart's, that he was extremely interested in, and he arranged a series of Petri dishes with which to start on it.

John folded his paper at length, and switched to his laptop, busying himself for some time with it. Sherlock pottered about the kitchen as John clicked away on-line. After a couple of hours, John stood, and stretched.

"I'll kip on sofa, if you don't mind, Sherlock?" said John.

Sherlock had come into the sitting room for a moment, and at John's voice, he whirled around at him in surprise. He'd forgotten he was still there. How had he done that? When John presented the notion of Sherlock keeping John company, Sherlock noticed that John had phrased the idea to suggest that he was asking for help for himself, though the detective _knew_ that John had intuited Sherlock's own need. So, the visit included a _sleepover? _These kindnesses heaped themselves upon themselves how could he ever – _ever come to be able to - But_ how had he gotten so busy as to forget about John? It was because he was a comfort, it was _because_ John was here, he realized, that he was able to carry on with his experiments, not in spite of it. The anxiety of separation raised its head again for Sherlock, but seeing John before him in his old chair, calmed him, eased him.

Sherlock regarded John as he looked at Sherlock, waiting for some answer to some question. Then he remembered.

"No, no! Please, use my bed, I won't sleep tonight, as you well know – please – your old room is full of junk, now, old files and boxes of things. Please go ahead."

"You're sure?"

"Perfectly."

"Well, thanks – right, good night?"

"Good night," Sherlock said from the kitchen, already busying himself with some new item at the microscope.

Entering Sherlock's bedroom, John noticed right away that the air was fresh, as if someone had left the windows open for a couple of hours. He noticed there were fresh candles on his dresser, and he smiled. It was strange to be in here alone, but John felt relaxed and at ease as he undressed to his boxers and got into the bed. _Clean sheets and bed made_. Clearly all this had been done in anticipation of tonight John saw. _Someone's in love!_ he thought and he smiled a grin that fairly stung. He'd have to think up something really good for the next evening they were all able to come together. Still smiling, John fell asleep.

When John woke to go to the loo, he noticed Sherlock asleep in his chair. _God, idiot._ He thought. After using the bathroom and returning to the sitting room, John regarded his friend for a moment, wondering what to do with Sherlock. _I can't let him sit here like this,_ he thought, when Sherlock opened his yes.

"Mmmm," he said.

"Come on, Sherlock," said John, taking his arm gently. "Bed."

"I didn't want – I didn't want to wake you –"

"Of course, but come on."

The two made their way together and got into bed with minimal contact, and lay beside one another with a fairly wide berth between them. John turned out he light and they were quite for some moments.

"Strange," said Sherlock.

"Hmmm."

"Molly gone."

"Mmmm."

"Nevertheless."

John hesitated, "What?"

"Just that – I mean, _thank you_ for coming tonight – I'd quite forgotten – it's true I'm – I've gotten - Since the 18 months, John, I've been more and more ah –"

"Shhh. Never mind. Doesn't matter. Get some sleep," John tried to make his tone gruff, but couldn't hide the affection underneath.

"John," said Sherlock. "Yes of course. Good night."

"Night."

**I'm soooooo excited about the next chapter that I will post on Thursday night/Friday. **

**Please accept my thanks, thank you, thank you, thank you all you lovely readers who have visited, faved, reviewed or followed me! **

** I would love to hear from you, please read and review if you have time!  
**


	5. Aubergine Tie 013113

_**I was going to wait 'til tomorrow, but I just can't wait!**_

_**Hello, my yummy, lovely followers and readers and fellow inhabitants of the world! I love you so much - I kiss you all. Yes YOU, I put my cyberlips on yours and . . . You get the picture - Thanks so much for checking out the latest installment - Very mild BDSM, het so far, sex, nakedness, self love . . . now I've said too much . . . **_

Aubergine Tie

Sherlock woke with a start, his back arching, lifting his face up with a jerk – no, no, no he thought, the case was _finished_, all finished. No need to wake. No need to move. He let his head fall back into he pillow. The niceties were all wrapped up the night before. Plenty of other idiots for Lestrade to assign to do all that paperwork. Thank god he never had to. He could have a bit of a lie in if no one bothered him. He closed his eyes again. This one had been a particularly wearying and uninteresting case that he was forced to work on by and with Mycroft. Political intrigue: boring. _And_ his brother had forbidden him to allow John to assist, which was extremely inconvenient. He was also forbidden to even speak of the case to anyone until after it was through, which he could tell was creating some hard feelings, and misunderstandings with John and Molly, but particularly with John. He would have to take care of that today.

But it _had_ been quite a difficult case, if not elegant, so there was a certain satisfaction when it was completed. Nothing interesting, though, no sparklingly brilliant evil mastermind at the center of it. In fact, it basically came down to numbers and bank accounts, grubby little mean spirited bean counters and air traffic control. Very uninspiring.

Sherlock stretched. How to amuse oneself today? He sighed and looked at the clock his vision still slightly fuzzy from sleep. 5:15. Hmm. Ante or post? he wondered, without bothering to check the clock again, and grabbing a dressing gown from a chair, he sauntered into the sitting area with absolutely no plan of what to do once he'd gotten there.

"Well, hello, bright eyes, feeling better?" John was clinking something around in the kitchen, and Sherlock's mood brightened immediately.

"John, you're here, good. Please allow me to explain - I - I was on a case, you must have known, surely – I've been on this case of Mycroft's for . ."

"Yes, I know, the air traffic money case. Mycroft rang me earlier. Explained things. Your absence and your – more than usual reticence with me and Molly. So, all's well, ok? Molly is _mollified_ -

"Good lord, John."

"Haha, over that little spat you two had the other day? And I – well – you know, I'm fine, now that I know. God you're an idiot. Um, you know you might have just texted something along the lines of 'case, explain later,' and left me to figure it out - was getting a little worried."

"Yes, I might have done. I really should have but – ah - I was quite, bogged down, if not absorbed in it."

"Sounds really boring."

"Agh, it _was_. And having to work with _Mycroft_ every day was _ab_solutely – it was exactly like being back in the nursery with mummy around the corner and I - Um, oh, what -?" Sherlock was stopped by the sight of John, as he rounded out of the kitchen holding two glasses. Besides repressing a smile, the doctor seemed to have a fresh haircut, was wearing a rather new looking suit coat and matching trousers, and a silk bow tie. His shoes were spotlessly shined, and the cufflinks – well, John was wearing _cuff_links. After a moment, Sherlock was a bit crestfallen. John and Molly clearly had plans for the evening. _Wait, was it evening?_ And he had been hoping to, that is, hoping to have some time with - to – um. How long had it _been_?

"You and Molly must be going out," Sherlock threw himself into his chair, and sulked for a moment.

"No, no, nothing like that, but she is – ah, _coming_," John said with a twinkle. "She's on her way. Here." John winked and proffered one of the glasses with a smile. "Cognac?"

"Oh, thank you. I think I will, just the thing," said Sherlock, accepting the glass and rearranged himself in his chair in a more attentive attitude. He sniffed the glass of amber coloured liquid. _Very nice._ John had reached for the top shelf for this, he thought.

"Well, John you certainly look very pretty this evening. Oh – um- _is_ it evening?" Sherlock asked, and John nodded.

"Anyway, what's that one's name? Daniel _Craig_ had better have a care...?" Sherlock arched an eyebrow. Had he gotten in a complimentary joke properly, or would he offend? John laughed and reddened slightly. He took his own chair, sipping his drink. Sherlock took his first sip as well.

When the first sip of alcohol hit his system Sherlock found himself suddenly wide awake and almost fully himself after the uncharacteristically long sleep he'd just had. While John smiled at him, waiting, Sherlock took in the room quickly and carefully for the first time. John and Molly must have been very busy in his absence as the room, and indeed the whole flat, had been cleaned within an inch of its life, and the floor seemed to have been _polished_. Rugs were newly cleaned. There was a fire in the fireplace, and the mantel had been thoroughly cleaned and cleared except for the skull, the knife and a couple of candle sticks which burned, having been only recently lit.

The coffee table had been cleared and scoured and on it there was what must be a glass of water and a small plate of Sherlock's favourite sandwiches. Cucumber. With the crusts off. _How utterly embarrassing_ _that John had found this out. Blast Mycroft's telling Mrs. Hudson. Blast Mrs Hudson and her incessant provision of delightful snacks and other food. _ Of course it was his own fault that John had seen the sandwiches in the fridge that day. He should have eaten them all, taken them with him, or thrown them out that same day. But Sherlock couldn't bear to, they were so tasty. He continued to take in the room, the leather sofa gleamed. What had they done to it? Sherlock smiled. _What's the game? _he wondered. But realized this was to be something a little out of the ordinary. He tried to let go of any preconceived notions of what might be afoot. He actually attempted to cease to deduce it, and to simply remain, what was that idiotic phrase? _In the moment. _Yes, he realized, he was ceasing to deduce it – _for the fun of the surprise._ It was extremely difficult, he found.

"When is Molly due?" Sherlock tried to sound casual.

"Ahaha," John chuckled softly, leaning his head to one side. "Soon, don't worry." He paused, now grinning broadly at his friend. "We – uh, wanted to make sure you'd had enough rest after you got home. Um- I suspect you haven't eaten anything for about," he looked at his watch, "Two days? so I suggest you eat a little something, before that drink hits you too hard, hmm? That's right, go ahead. No, no, I've had what I need for now, thanks. I'd like you to finish them all, but if you can't, do try to eat some of it."

"Just as you say - it has been a while," said Sherlock. He had picked up the plate of sandwiches from the coffee table and was trying to maintain some dignity as he ate rather quickly.

"Plenty of time for you to eat that, ok? Plenty of time," John continued. "And there's plenty of time for a shower, if you'd like, hmm? Might be nice?" A question that wasn't a question.

"Of course," Sherlock half rose from his chair as if he might take the plate of sandwiches into the shower with him.

"Ah, ah, plenty of time, relax." John had risen from his seat and put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, guiding him back to his chair and lingering for a moment. "We were beginning to wonder when we'd see you again, you know."

"I – John, yes it's - very agreeable - to see you. So, Molly's no longer - cross with me?" Sherlock asked lowly, making eye contact with his friend.

"No, not at all." John smiled and dipped his head, as he ambled toward Sherlock's room.

"Oh, and try to drink a little water, too, don't want to get dehydrated. I'll be right back. Oh, I'm just setting out a few things for you, just suggestions, nothing in stone. Eat. Don't forget a little water."

Sherlock finished the sandwiches and drank almost all the water. He looked at the empty plate he still held, then set it down, and quickly made for the shower. He sensed that John had scheduled the evening's activities according to his, Sherlock's readiness, and he didn't want to be an ungrateful, slow or awkward guest. It was very liberating, Sherlock reflected again, allowing John to set the tone, lead the way. It was refreshing, freeing. Someone _else_, someone else to take the reigns – to look to – and someone he trusted - besides always himself. But this all seemed so uncharacteristic of John. Sherlock wondered how much Molly might have to do with these – interludes.

John knocked on the door and poked his head into the bathroom, averting his eyes.

"Take it easy, ok? – no rush. Try to enjoy the – you know. Antici. Pation."

"I am enjoying it, I assure you," Sherlock answered, stripping off his clothes, and with that he turned on the shower, waited for the water to heat up and stepped in. He lathered up some shower gel immediately and took his now almost completely hard erection in his hand and quickly gave himself the release he'd needed almost from the moment he'd seen that John was in the flat.

* * *

Showered, with teeth cleaned, and feeling a little less anxious, Sherlock re-entered his bedroom and put on what John had set out. Merely a black suit coat and trousers, and his aubergine shirt, something he might have chosen on his own, but he put the items on with care in any case. The belt was one he hadn't worn in ages. _Why this belt?_ He wondered. The buckle was too big, aesthetically, he thought. _Do as he directs._ A small voice in his head suggested. He paused, on the verge of rebellion, but then put it on. _What sort of rebellion is a rebellion against a particular belt? _He thought. He stepped into the sitting room again where John was poking at the fire.

"Ah," the doctor said, seeing him there, "Very nice." Here Sherlock noted that John very deliberately looked at the belt and nodded approvingly, but made no comment. John came over to a side table where Sherlock was standing and reached around him, invading his space a little. He picked up a small blue gift box, and set it closer to Sherlock's hand on the table. John tapped the box, still holding it, and then left it.

"Small gift."

"How touching," Sherlock said, trying his hardest to be remain cool. His expression became quizzical, however, when he looked at the box. "A tie, John? Really, you know I don't wear them."

"Gift's not just for you."

"Ah, I beg your pardon," said Sherlock but he made no move for the box.

_Now_, John, wondered, _will he put on the bleeding bloody tie under his own steam, or do I have to strangle him with it?_ he thought. Instead, however he said,

"You do know how to _tie_ a tie, right? Or, of course, I could _help_ you . . ." John had picked up some psychology along the way, naturally.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," said Sherlock, picking up the box. _Really, he thought, does John have to play that stupid psychology trick on me all the time? My god, does he think it works?_

"Won't be on for long, in any case, you know." John smiled marginally.

"No, I –" Sherlock dipped his head. _Embarrassed? How could he be? – well, it had been weeks since they had all—wait, months? _

"John," he asked, taking out the tie, "How long has it been since I – that is since we – how long have I been – "

"It's been about three months, Sherlock."

The detective's stomach churned and wrenched as the concrete tally of those days and weeks stretched out, filling his mind with images of the events that had taken place during the case. During this length of time he'd only come to the flat once in a while when he was waiting for information, or a development in the case. Even though John and Molly only lived down the street he'd rarely seen either of them. He couldn't bring any evidence, any information with him and had to do all his research and work in the Mycroft-provided offices and locations that he barely remembered now, so there was no point in coming to Baker Street. His existence had been one of office buildings. Tall glass walls, off-white corridors. Rows of cubicles filled with imbeciles doing tiny pieces of tiny research. He'd caught cat naps on office sofas. Hardly a breath of fresh air. But how had he let go of the passage of so much time without any awareness of it? It was a more than a little staggering. But he'd never before wondered how he'd spent so long on a case. Any time spent on a case was time well spent. And he'd never before questioned it. When had this changed? Was this the longest case? It had been long, but not the longest, not by a long shot. But still, how had this happened? Three months without spending any time with John. _Molly._

"How -?" he said, frozen in place, leaning over the gift box, with the tie in his hand as the realization of how much time had passed was still hitting him. John looked at him with some concern.

"It's all right," he said, It's over now, you're here. Hey," and here John put his hand on his friend's shoulder, then, stroked and patted his back. He was gratified to feel Sherlock relax almost at once, and straighten up with a deep breath.

_Emotionalism. It won't leave me alone. It's because of those 18 months of isolation and constant danger after St. Bart's. I need to get a hold of myself. _Then, Sherlock saw the tie in his hand, and immediately felt his aversion to the object. But he remembered what the evening might have in store, John's and Molly's presence and involvement. _This isn't Mummy dressing me for the opera, _he thought_. Just put on the bloody tie._ He took in the tie. While it wasn't a particularly fine piece of work, it was the least possibly offensive tie, Sherlock mused, as it exactly matched the color of his shirt, and was a simple solid silk. He tied it briskly and expertly, only stretching his neck in irritation once or twice. Or maybe three times.

"Thank you. Hmmm. Windsor. Very nice." John was again quite close to the taller man, and Sherlock could smell his aftershave or was it his soap? Mercifully, Sherlock noticed, John had left off wearing cologne. Every detail. Their eyes locked.

"Yes, Windsor. You know your knots." Sherlock said. John smiled and reddened somewhat.

"Well, I've had occasion to – tie knots - from time to time. Army. You know." John smoothed the tie briefly with his fingers. "Good," he said, tapped the tie twice, and turned to the coffee table, and picked up his own cognac, and Sherlock followed suit.

"Almost there. So. A toast to your finishing the case all on your own and with Mycoft to answer to? Congratulations on being out of it. I know it must have been rather tedious for you."

Sherlock regarded his friend. It was at moments like these that John's self-deprecation and gentle kindness almost overwhelmed Sherlock. His ordeal during his absence after his leap from St. Bart's had definitely changed him, he knew. _What to say? How to proceed? _He wasn't facile any longer with aloof off-putting comments, though he managed, he thought, to keep up appearances. And the combination of his own gratitude and John and Molly's ever increasing generosities and kindnesses were getting harder and harder to - He tried to form what would be an appropriate response to John's toast.

"Thank you, John. I really could have used your help. I wish you had been - To the case, then. Thank you. You're – you're very kind." John took in the tone of Sherlock's response before sipping his cognac.

"Ah, ah, ah – don't get all senti on me, now, hmm? I love it, don't get me wrong, you're adorable when you do that, lately."

Sherlock looked at him. _Adorable?_ He thought.

John continued, "But right now we're looking for that aloof prick we all know and love, hmm?"

John crossed the short distance between them again and lowered his voice, taking the taller man's upper arm with a light grip. "That's what we like to – um – break down a bit, hmm? I think you do too, yes?" He looked into Sherlock's face, but Sherlock averted his gaze.

"I don't know what you're talking about, John." Sherlock's back stiffened, and he looked back at his friend with a mask of studied casualness. John was put off at first but then smiled.

"Ahh, yes, that's better. Oh, you had me, there, you bastard, and this is supposed to be _my_ game. Haha." Sherlock smiled. John chuckled again.

"Good, good. Game face for Molly. Oh, she's here."

She must have been standing in the hallway listening to their whole conversation, for exactly on cue she stepped into the room.

* * *

It was like the theatre. Even Sherlock had enjoyed the theatre as a child. The lights, the colors, the beauties to be enjoyed, both tangible and ethereal. The _mysteries_. Molly was dressed in a deep red strapless ball gown with ruching that spilled what seemed to be yards of fabric onto the floor. She wore long black gloves, a sparkling necklace and earrings. Her hair was simply but elegantly swept up, and her make-up seemed to be nothing more than some eye shadow, mascara and a deep shade of lipstick that matched her dress. Genuine Hollywood diva. The two men took in the view for several long moments as Molly smiled at them, unselfconscious, content to stand where she was just inside the door arms relaxed at her sides.

"Have a seat, Sherlock," John said, but before he turned to Molly, he added _sotto voce_,

"Oh, and, when we- that is when we _get to it_, if you will, try to remove as little clothing as possible, all right? That's what she likes,um -for _this_, hmm? And lastly, I suppose you know what a safeword is, and what it's for?"

"Yes, but good lord, John, what are you – "

"Shhh. Good. Tonight the word is cascade. Don't be frightened, it's very mild." John winked, and walked over to Molly.

_What? _Sherlock considered _being_ frightened for a moment, but then bristled slightly at the word. But then John and Molly approached and the moment was over.

Sherlock did as he was directed, taking his chair without another word. _What in the world did they have planned? _Sherlock continued to be fascinated to be the silent one, the one who would be the last to know. And John seemed very much in command. Captain had been his rank, Sherlock recalled.

He watched as John took Molly in his arms and kissed her neck hungrily. He pulled her waist closely to him, and his hand at her breast, he squeezed her somewhat greedily. He whispered urgently into her ear, biting and kissing her neck for some minutes, and then finally released her, still composed and unmussed, while John himself looked quite agitated for a moment. He took a deep breath, and held his hand out for her, leading her half way to the men's two chairs, and then let her go, and took his seat. The two men took another sip of their drinks.

Molly slowly approached the two chairs, keeping her eyes on Sherlock. She stood directly in front of him, finally, and held his gaze.

"It's ridiculous, isn't it? All this . . . and so many women do it. Not all this, of course, not all the time, but you know, all the things that women do. The shoes, the lipstick. The _shaving_. What do you think?"

"Of the dress? The outfit and you in it?" Sherlock cocked his head. "It's very transforming. I know there's a kind of power for some in wearing this kind of thing."

"Yes," she said, "And so many women know how to use it. How to act, how to wield that power. And it's a real kind of power, of course. We've seen it throughout the ages. John, may I have a drink?"

"Of course, so sorry," John dashed off to the kitchen.

"But what about _me_ in the dress? Is there anything in it?"

"Turn around. Slowly, if you don't mind," said Sherlock. And Molly complied slowly, gracefully, but without turning the action into some ironic comment.

"Here, my darling." John handed Molly a cognac.

"I was just asking Sherlock what he though of _me_ in the dress. Is there any power in the dress for _me_ to wield, in the way that so many can and do so successfully?

Sherlock swallowed hard. It was undeniable.

"Oh, yes, Molly, there is."

"Really? But I'm standing in front of you talking normally, yes? I'm just being myself. Is it the male imagination? John?"

"Perhaps." John maintained his smile. "You do look stunning in it, darling."

"Goodness, if that's all it is – and why wouldn't it be? - I wonder – then everything is so simple, isn't it? Everything should be so simple. But I think you have to learn these things. These behaviors, from others, from other women. I didn't have that, and then I learned that I wasn't interested in those things, anyway."

"I'm not sure that's entirely true," said Sherlock.

"No, perhaps not," she said. She paused and then turned to John.

"More?" she asked, "more of the dress?"

"I don't think so," John answered. "Sherlock?"

Molly held out a hand to Sherlock who put down his glass and stood up. _Is this allowed? _ He wondered. She put her arms around his neck, and turned her head with a smile, allowing him to scent her neck. He put his arms around her and drew her to him, feeling the texture of the silk, feeling the coarse skin of his fingers snagging the tiny fibers, hearing the crinkle of the paper like fabric. He took one of her arms and ran his hand along the glove, extended her arm out, and brought her hand to his mouth to kiss. He smelled her hair, kissed her ear, then looked at John.

"Zipper?" asked John. "But I think that will be all, yes? She can manage the rest on her own."

Sherlock reached behind Molly as she looked up into his eyes smiling. He found the zipper, and slowly worked it down her back as he held her gaze. When he finished, he touched her cheek and traced her lips with his fingers. He was dying to kiss those lips, but sensed that this was not yet allowed. Molly smiled and backed away and Sherlock sat back down in his chair.

"It's not a striptease, remember, Molly." John cautioned.

"Of course not, I know what it is," she said over her shoulder to John. "It's just normal Molly, taking off her abnormal dress."

She stepped away from Sherlock and stripped off one glove, then the other, simply, and placed them on the coffee table. Earrings and necklace were next. Then she shrugged her way out of the dress, which fell around her feet in a heap and she stepped out of it, picked it up, and put it out of the way. She stood a moment, now bare to the waist before Sherlock, before continuing. His breathing hitched at the sight of her, and he tried his best to control himself. She bent down straight legged and unbuckled her shoes and stepped out of them, coffee table. Then she rolled her stockings down to her feet, and disposed of them, too. She whisked off her pants, and tossed them to Sherlock who held them briefly with a smile, and then tossed them to the coffee table with the rest.

"Molly," John warned, smiling.

"Sorry, couldn't resist."

She was naked now, and began to take down her hair. It was a somewhat long process, there seemed to be about a thousand bobby pins, but finally her hair was shaken out, almost waist length, practically obscuring her breasts from view.

"Here, darling," offered John, holding out a handkerchief.

"But I'll spoil it with the lipstick, John, dear."

"It's all right, love, do take it off, hmm?"

Molly took the cloth from John, and wiped her mouth clean.

"What about now? Sherlock? What do you think of me now, out of the dress? Is there any power left for me? To wield?"

"Oh, yes, Molly."

"Really? It's as if I weren't aware of it somehow."

"You're aware of it, or you wouldn't be asking me."

"Hmm. Of course you're right. Obviously. Maybe I just wanted to hear you say it. Thank you." She smiled.

"Darling, that's enough, go welcome Sherlock home properly."

Molly stepped forward and sank, naked, into Sherlock's fully clothed lap with a purr of contentment.

"We missed you so," she said kissing him on the mouth slowly, waiting for him to respond. He let himself sink into the feeling of her, wrapping his arms around her gratefully. He stroked her flank, hip and leg, deepening the kiss, moaning into her mouth. He gripped her bottom, and then made to delve a hand between her legs when John coughed.

"Oh, uh, not quite yet, I think, hmm? Soon, I promise. Molly, darling- tie?"

"Oh, of course. Sherlock, what a lovely tie. Thank you so much for wearing one tonight."

"A pleasure." _What was with the tie?_

"And what a lovely color, it exactly matches our favourite of your shirts. May I take it off? The tie?"

"Yes, of course, please do."

Here, Molly giggled slightly and loosened the tie, and as she did so, kissed him again, this time even more deeply, but when she whisked the tie out from under his shirt collar, she broke away. She looked in his eyes, with a twinkle and stroked his cheek. Then she was up and out of his arms. Sherlock watched as she handed the tie to John, and then sank into his lap. They kissed and stroked one another's faces, whispering things to one another, and then John asked her.

"Are you ready?"

Molly nodded, and rose from John's lap.

She was unsmiling as she returned to face Sherlock, and knelt before him, her knees wide. She shook her hair out, letting it fall where it would, long and lovely around her shoulders, covering her here and there, but not obscuring Sherlock's view of her. She avoided Sherlock's eyes, and ran her hands up and down her sides, and clutched her breasts, squeezing them, offering them. Then, Sherlock with a mounting tension, watched as she reached one of her hands between her legs and parted her folds there. She pushed two fingers deep inside herself, then rubbed herself slowly, still clutching at her breast with her other hand. Now she lifted her gaze to Sherlock's and their eyes locked as she continued to rub herself between her legs.

Sherlock licked his lips, and tried to maintain his calm, as Molly smiled with a wicked twinkle, then leaned her head back and slowly dropped back to the floor, spreading her legs to his view. _How did she manage to drop back like that? She must have some kind of gymnastic training, _thought Sherlock. She popped her knees out from under her one at a time, and now, with her legs quite fully spread to his view, flat on her back with her knees bent, she continued her attentions to a particular spot between her legs. Now her other hand trailed down her body, and she pressed two and then three fingers deep inside herself, pressing, and then thrusting harder and harder. She started to vocalize a bit, just slightly, but Sherlock could hear her speak John's name here and there with her other lovely mewings and 'ahs,' and 'ohs.'

"Ok," John said quietly, and Molly stopped but continued to moan and writhe on the floor in frustration. Sherlock glanced at John, and then refixed on Molly.

"All right, go ahead," said John softly, and Molly continued her rubbing, and occasional thrusting.

"You should make yourself comfortable, Sherlock," said John, unclasping his belt buckle, and taking out his cock, stroking slowly. "It generally takes a little while, but you don't want to go first, hmm? You'll wait 'til she's done, won't you?" Sherlock adjusted himself to be more comfortable, but didn't open his belt buckle. Molly continued to rub herself, now slowly and languidly, now more quickly and frenetically, trying to find her rhythm.

"Ok," said John again.

"John, oh, god, no, John, I'm getting close -, please, let me go . . ."

"I know you're getting close, darling, that's why we're asking you to stop, hmm?"

"Mmmmmmmm, pleeeeeeze, darling?"

"All right, go ahead," he said, and she continued, now looking up at Sherlock.

"Do you like it? Do you like what you see?" She asked.

"Now, that's not fair, darling, that's not according to the rules." Molly continued to smile, but held her tongue.

After some time watching Molly almost come undone, and then being thwarted by John, Molly seemed to be quite near the end of her rope. She was really thrusting hard, now and Sherlock thought John might let her finish. She was whimpering and keening, and almost finished, he was sure, when John said,

"Ok," again.

"Mmmmm, hmmmm, hmmmm, hmmmm," was Molly's urgent response, complete with tears, her hands flying to her head, gripping her hair.

"Jesus, John." Sherlock breathed.

"She's dazzling, isn't she? All right, go ahead, you can finish, now darling, I won't stop you again."

Molly redoubled her efforts. Her hands, Sherlock saw were slick with her own juices, and she had to continuously wipe her hands off on her thighs, so she could get some kind of friction. Finally, she was close again, and started her keening, but then opened her eyes, and looking at Sherlock, started to beg,

"Please, please, please fuck me, Sherlock, please do it, please, now, please?"

"Ah, ah. Cheating. That would be cheating, Come for us Molly, please?" John said.

Sherlock leaned forward in his chair.

"Come for me, Molly, please come for me, hmm? You're so beautiful, so lovely, so lovely, lovely, lovely Molly."

"Mmmmppphhhhh –!" Her release was loud and long. She shrieked at first, and then rode out the last waves of her pleasure while grunting guttural sounds Sherlock had never heard elicit from her before. With the last wave of her orgasm, Molly's arched back flattened onto the floor with an audible whap, and as she lay there, John went to her.

"You were magnificent, sweetheart, so lovely, so lovely, so generous to include us, thank you, thank you so much, my love." He petted her, holding her head and shoulders in his lap, kissing her and smoothing her hair. She opened her eyes and smiled at Sherlock.

"You're quite a vision," said Sherlock looking down at Molly, swallowing the lump in his throat. He smiled and licked his lips. Her legs were spread wide before him, and she spread them further, and lifted and bent her knees up, as she looked at him. Her cunt was visibly wet even in the darkening room. Her face and chest were deeply flushed, her hair in disarray and in her face.

"Yes, she is," said John, retrieving Sherlock's tie from the chair. "A vision."

"What about now, Sherlock? Any power for me to wield?" Molly's voice was deep and husky. There was no trace of the unapproachable woman in the ball gown of earlier. In her stead was an earthy goddess of the soil, a Venus of debauchery and fertility before him. A complete transformation.

"Oh, god, Molly," Was all he managed.

Now holding the tie, John made a slip knot with the center of the it and bound Molly's wrists together loosely so she could move her wrists about but couldn't pull away.

"All right?" He asked, and she whispered her assent with a nod.

He wrapped the other end of the doubled tie around his hand and pulled her arms out, over her head, stretching her out on the floor before Sherlock, as she spread her legs even farther apart for him, bending at the knee. John sat at the edge of his chair holding the tie, Molly's arms stretched above her head along the floor suspended in the air. Her eyes were filled with need, now, dark and begging. Sherlock rose from the chair.

John took a condom from his pocket and handed it to him.

"The safe word is cascade, remember," and John was quiet.

Sherlock knelt between Molly's knees, spreading them further apart with his hands, then rubbing his arms against her skin, running his arms under her thighs.

"You want to feel the clothes against your skin, I understand, Molly?"

She whimpered in assent, and he lowered himself onto her and pressed against her roughly.

"Where do you like to feel it, here? On your legs? On your breasts?

He rubbed his chest back and forth across her breasts, kissing her a little roughly.

"Do you feel the buttons? The wool? What about the zipper?"

He ground his pelvis into her. Then he remembered the belt.

"What about the _buckle_, hmm? It's the buckle, isn't it, Molly? Where do you want that?"

He lowered himself, positioning the belt buckle at her sex, grinding into her carefully, not wanting to hurt her, only give her what she was begging for. She whimpered and then gasped as the contact of the buckle hit its mark. She bucked against him. Sherlock continued to grind against her carefully, as she bucked and thrust against him. She seemed to find a rhythm, and he tried to stay with her as she bucked and writhed and finally came against him whimpering love noises and sweet 'thanks yous.'

He rose from her, reaching to undo his buckle, and as he looked down, he saw his trousers were rather spoiled and wet. He smiled, and chuckled, leaving the belt loose and undone without taking it off. Molly whimpered in anticipation. His rock hard length sprang from his clothes, and he lowered his trousers and pants, keeping them on, but allowing his entire sex into view. He opened and rolled on the condom and looked into Molly's eyes, and then into John's who was only slightly farther away, holding the end of the tie, watching.

"John?"

"When you're ready, take your time."

"Molly? All right?"

"Pleeeeese, Sherlock, please don't make me wait anymore."

He didn't, he leaned over her, nose to nose and pressed the head of his cock against her entrance, she was completely wet, he could feel and had no trouble pushing deeply into her in a swift but controlled stroke. Before he started to move, though, he took her face in his hands and kissed her carefully and thoroughly, and then he started to thrust in and out.

"You want to feel my coat against your face?" He put his arms on either side of her head, and she pressed her cheek against him, fairly scraping her skin against the fabric.

"You like that? Can you feel it?"

After a few thrusts, he kissed her, and then looked at her, smiling.

"You want the buckle again? Hmm? Shall I?"

"Yes, please, please."

Sherlock reached down for the belt buckle, and pressed it against her, letting her move to find the right positioning. When she found it, Sherlock leaned against the buckle, trapping it between them, and began making shallow thrusts in quick succession, while she wiggled beneath him.

"What about your legs? Hmm? Can you feel the wool against you?"

Here, he rubbed his leg against her, trying to give her as much contact with fabric as he could. But after only a short time, she was spent for the third time in this evening and Sherlock abandoned himself to his friend's wife, letting himself go, finally calling out her name over and over. He collapsed onto her, collecting himself, and then rolled off her, completely spent, but at once was at her ear, whispering.

"I'm not done with you yet, Molly, love. " He kissed her, and trailed kisses down to her abdomen, and started kissing her, and biting her inner thighs, raking his teeth against her knees. He thrust his fingers inside her and with his mouth and tongue he found her nerve bundle, and started nuzzling, licking and sucking it while she made her little love noises. He took his time, kissing and licking her languidly, all the while, John held Molly's arms over her head, and watched and listened, and breathed in the air, as the perfume of Molly's sex filled the room. After some time of Sherlock's careful and thorough attentions, Molly came with a quieter expression of her release this time. But she wasn't to rest yet, as Sherlock exchanged places with John. He took the tie from John, and sat in his chair, holding Molly's hands over her head, while John made love to his wife.

As Sherlock watched their love making, he noted that even after such a long and physically arduous evening for Molly, she was still fresh and ardent for John. When Sherlock and she were together, she'd seemed more animalistic. Wasn't she growling into his neck, and biting him rather hard? But with John, she'd quieted, and was more like a child needing attention, and John was ready with soothing words, and loving murmurs. Sherlock was moved. _How long will they allow me into their inner world in this way, _he wondered?_ How would he live without it, now, if they were to leave him?_ He couldn't bear the thought and tried to keep his attention on the moment.

When John finished, and rolled to Molly's side, Sherlock untied the tie and let Molly's hands free. But before she took them back to her sides, he grasped one of her wrists, and pressed his face to it with passion. "You are a goddess," he breathed into her skin. He leaned closer to her face, "I adore you, I adore you and I would do anything for you." And he bit her neck gently.

"Mmmmmm, Sherlock, I adore you, too." He picked her up off the floor, cradling her like a child, kissing her face and hair.

"Come to my bed. John, all right?"

"Yes, good, coming."

Soon they were settled under Sherlock's duvet, holding one another like children. Sherlock was at Molly's back, but he couldn't help but reach out and stroke John's shoulder.

"Hmmm?" said John, not wanting to acknowledge Sherlock's touch. "Ah, that was lovely, ladies and gentlemen." He chuckled contentedly. Molly, how are you doing? I'm afraid we've worn you out."

"I think you did, a bit, but it was lovely, John, so lovely. Welcome home, Sherlock, we missed you so much. If we had _known_ it was a case – "

"Yes, I should have texted you something, I completely agree. I'm sorry, so sorry. Forgive me, forgive me both, please."

"I'm sorry we bickered the other day, I was a little – wound up." Molly sighed deeply.

"All unwound, now, I think, hmmm?" John was facing Molly, his eyes already closed.

"Yes, I'm sorry too." said Sherlock, pressing his face into her hair and the nape of her neck. He was trembling, he knew. Would she notice? Would John? He couldn't control it. Trembling with the _feeling _of it all. Or was it just exhaustion? Would he ever be able to control himself again? he wondered. But all he said was,

"Yes, it's good to be back."

_**I've rather loved writing this chapter - I would love to hear what you think either in a review or a private message - or just say 'hi!' **_

_**Next chapter on Sunday! I absolutely promise - Unless I post earlier - I have a couple rather short sexy chapters coming up! Have a lovely weekend! Jenn of the Glenn  
**_


	6. Jeep Road Trip 020113

_**Something fun and light for the weekend - Thanks, to all for checking in! And to Schneephoenix, leaCM, Mione W.G, Cumberbabe, MorbidbyDefault and A. Beaumont for your thoughtful reviews! It's all very gratifying! More on Sunday! **_

Road Trip –

Cold. _But not for long,_ thought John and he chuckled quietly to himself as he put on an old pair of aviator sunglasses. It was a brilliantly sunny day, and he relished the chance to put on this pair of glasses that reminded him of - _Hmmm. One's youth_. He pulled the Jeep out of the rental garage and revved the engine. It was an American army-type Jeep a buddy had mentioned happened to be at this rental place. He smiled at the steering wheel crazily arranged on the left, and it was hilarious getting the hang of it on the London streets.

"Oh, fuck," he murmured as he pulled up alongside 221B, just avoiding some pedestrians who'd jumped a railing and were scampering across his path. He pulled up, and waited while Molly trotted to the side of the Jeep with a couple of bags. She flung them into a utility compartment at the back, then got into the back seat of the Jeep with a large blanket. John sped away from Baker Street.

"Do you have it on the GPS?" Molly asked as she huddled under the blanket, her teeth chattering, as she divested herself of her clothing, chucking her things out of sight into the back, doing her best to keep the blanket in place at all times.

"Yeah, yeah, it's just that this is a really congested area, and - here we go. Are you all set?"

"Yes, no problem," she said, pulling the blanket carefully into place.

John pulled up opposite a formidable and official, if not to say officious looking building, just as Sherlock popped out of its doors and trotted down the steps to the street. John smiled at the figure his friend cut. So posh, so in control. _We'll fix that today_ – _at least for a bit_, he thought wickedly. He watched as Sherlock scanned the street and quickly spotted John waving. He was at the door of the car in a moment.

"Ahaha, no, the back seat, Sherlock. That will be more comfortable, hmm?" Sherlock smiled at Molly in the back of the Jeep and wondered. _Oh my god what on earth are they going to do to me this time? _Sherlock thought._ In public?_

"Whatever you say, John," he said as he got in the back seat with Molly.

"Hello, Molly, dear, you look - cold. But you have a blanket." Molly made no answer, but smiled slyly at the detective. Sherlock grabbed desperately to a hand hold as John's steering pitched both him and Molly to and fro in the back.

"Sorry! Ahaha, getting used to the steering again. Ahaha!"

"John, what exactly are you - that is - I'm sure I don't have to tell you - I know you're aware of the CCTV monitors all over the city?"

"Yes, Sherlock, we're leaving the city, all right? We'll have heat in a moment, Molly, sorry, darling, it should be coming on soon. Are you getting any of that, yet?" John was fiddling with the heater vents, trying to aim more air into the back seat.

"N-n- not yet," she answered, her teeth chattering.

"It'll be better in a few minutes, just hang on, ok?"

"Oh, I intend to hang on, John." Molly smiled, and Sherlock looked at her questioningly.

"So, how did it go, all the loose ends taken care of?" John asked, shouting over his shoulder. The engine and exhaust of this Jeep were exhilaratingly loud, and exactly as his buddy had described it. He could tell it was incredibly sturdy, but had a bit of a suspension problem. Every bump could be felt, he noticed with satisfaction, as they tore away from central London, finally getting onto A12 out of the city.

"Yes, thank god, what a bore. And Mycroft was there, as well – agh. What kind of machine is this anyway? Some suspension issues, no?"

"End of another case!"

"Yes. What's this all about, John?"

"We packed a few things for you, going on a road trip."

"A _what?_"

"Road trip. We're getting on the road, and - I think you see what I mean."

"Leaving London?" said Sherlock, wistfully.

"Yes, Sherlock, don't be wistful, all right?" said Molly, "We're coming back tomorrow. There won't be any _time_ to be wistful."

"Just as you say. What are you hiding under there, love?"

"Nothing." Molly said truthfully and shrugged, and the blanket moved enough for Sherlock to see that she wasn't wearing a top, let alone a coat in this freezing January weather. He put his hand out, and slipped it into her blanket, caressing her bare shoulder and neck, when John looked up.

"Ah, ah. A little later, ok? Ahaha. It's about an hour's drive depending on the traffic. Molly, you lost your blanket, there."

"Whoops!"

About an hour later, the sun was well to the west, and the light was starting to go.

"Almost there," said John. "About 10 minutes, Molly."

"Ok," said Molly, as she shrugged off the blanket, and rose from it naked, to straddle Sherlock's lap.

"Oh my god, you two, what is _wrong_ with you?" But he took her in his arms, laughing, kissing her and rubbing her briskly to keep her warm.

"What have you _done_ to her, John? She's half _frozen_. Where are you going, what on _earth_ are you going to _do_ to me this time? I'm _frightened_, I swear, you take me out of London in this crazy machine, and I'm frightened for my _life_ with you in those insane murderer's glasses," giggled Sherlock uncontrollably. He was cold and a little nervous and more than a little tired.

"These are not murderer's glasses, you idiot, now will you please relax and enjoy yourself?" Molly put her arms around Sherlock's neck and started kissing him and he soon responded, continuing to stroke her briskly up and down her back and sides, trying to keep help her keep a little bit warm.

"Five minutes, Molly." John was grinning, the two backseat passengers could see as he turned his head briefly to address them. It was completely dark now, Sherlock noticed, and except for the fact that these were the two people he loved best in the world, he was starting to get concerned for what was going on.

"Ok," Molly said, "Five minutes, Sherlock," she whispered as she undid Sherlock's belt, button and zip releasing his erection into the cold and dark. She knelt and kissed him, licking him and sucking him down.

"Warmer?" She asked, as he tried to control his breath. She straddled him again and he gasped as she stroked him with her hand. She took a condom from where she'd left it on the seat and quickly slipped it on Sherlock, and mounted him expertly.

"Fuck," Sherlock whispered into her hair as she settled onto him and embraced him. "Molly, love, you're so cold," he said, as he tried to haul the blanket up around her shoulders, starting to move into her.

"No, no blanket, Sherlock," She whispered, her teeth chattering.

"Ok, you two, here we _go_!" John shouted as he turned the Jeep.

John took a turn onto a country road that seemed to be going nowhere fast, Sherlock saw. It headed into some trees, and there were no lights or signs. Almost complete darkness but for the moon and stars. And then they hit the bumps.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh! Molly shouted. "Oh, my god!"

"Jesus , John!" Sherlock shouted, holding on to Molly with all his strength and dexterity.

"Let the _road_ do the work!" John shouted. And Sherlock, moving and holding Molly immediately saw what he meant. Molly, too, quickly saw the advantages of the combination of bad suspension and an ungraded surface. She clamped her knees against Sherlock for all she was worth. At first she tried to hold Sherlock around the neck, but saw that she had to hang onto the Jeep's hand holds at either side of the car to keep from falling off. Her spread eagle position gave Sherlock quite a view of her breasts as they contended with the bumpy road. He laughed as he kissed and nipped at them. They quickly found a rhythm of basically holding on for dear life, and just moving slightly, mostly grinding against one another.

"Ok, back the way we came, hang on!" John shouted as he spun the Jeep around and headed back the length of the bumpy road, the way they'd come. Finally John swung the jeep back out onto the smooth open highway again, and Molly and Sherlock found a more normal rhythm, and each came to a plateau.

"Doing all right?" Molly asked Sherlock.

"Yes, I – uh, that is –"

Molly didn't wait for a reply, but shouted,

"Ok, John!" and John took the Jeep back onto the deserted looking road with the delicious bumps.

"Oh my god, you've completely lost your mind, John. _John!_" Sherlock came with a serious of vocalizations that seemed to respond to each individual bump in the road the Jeep hit during his orgasm. Molly just giggled, hanging on to the hand holds as John slowed the car, laughing a deep, satisfied belly laugh. As the car slowed and then stopped, John continued to laugh almost uncontrollably. Sherlock reached out to Molly pulling her to him, tasting her ice cold skin, biting her frozen nipples, warming the chill of her lips and tongue with his.

"Jesus _Christ_, John. How on earth did you think that up?"

"Ahaha! Oh, god, that was brilliant! But you managed, didn't you, Sherlock, you're all right? Haha! Molly what about you? No? Well, do you think you can drive, Sherlock? Ahaha! No, take your time, Ahaha!, here are the keys. Oh my god!"

As John and Sherlock changed places, John pointed out the road, and the landmarks, still laughing, and got into the back of the car with his wife.

"So? Was it fun?"

"John, never, never leave me!" Molly giggled into his mouth as she kissed him. She stroked his erection through his jeans, and soon had it out of his trousers, then straddled and mounted him.

"Oh, god, that's lovely, love."

"Mmmm," Molly returned, stroking his pecs and teasing his nipples.

Sherlock started the engine and took off like a bat out of hell down the bumpy road. As he flew down the road, he jerked the steering wheel back and forth a bit eliciting surprised laughter and shouts from the backseat. Then he hit the breaks on and off experimentally, drawing more shouting and laughter from his friends in the back. Finally he just drove the Jeep in the same pattern that John had before, then took the vehicle back onto the open road.

Sherlock noticed that things had quieted down in the back. He gauged the sound carefully, and when he heard a bit more of a commotion and mounting love sounds, he took the Jeep back to the bumpy road. Molly came first, and then John with shouting, laughter and giggling. Sherlock slowed the Jeep and stopped, chuckling to himself. He stopped the Jeep, put it in park, and turned to the back.

John and Molly were red faced and both of them sported heads of hair that were absolutely impossible. Sherlock laughed out loud at the sight of them.

"Oh, god! Everyone do all right?" he asked still chuckling.

"I think so," John laughed.

"Yes, thanks, do you believe this?" Molly was starting onto a fit of giggles of her own.

"No, Molly I don't – I don't think I believe this at all! So, John, you want to, uh, drive us, or direct me to wherever it is you've got in mind? No, no, take a minute, no rush. Good lord. I must say you have taken me completely by surprise this time. Well, you do every time, but this is – you've out done yourself this time, honestly."

"Well, thank you, thank you ladies and gentlemen. I do what I can to keep things moving, ahaha. To keep things interesting. Ahahaha! All right! I hope we're all hungry?" John was buttoning up his shirt as Molly was routing around in the back for bits of clothing.

"Oh, I think so. But, hang on! Don't _I_ get to drive?" Molly enthused struggling into a cozy sweater.

"Yes, John, it's only fair," said Sherlock, thinking, _this could be delightful._

"All right, yes. Only fair. Here're the keys, love," and John moved to the front passenger seat.

"I think the back, John, hmm? More comfortable, no?" Sherlock purred.

"It's only fair, John," Molly smiled wickedly at John.

"This is insane. All right. I'm out of my mind." John hopped out of the front, and took his seat next to Sherlock in the back mumbling to himself, "A woman at the wheel and you in the back seat with me, I'm really asking for it, here."

"Just try to relax and enjoy yourself," Sherlock said, looking ahead at the black road.

Molly's driving was by far more insane than anything either Sherlock or John had done before her. She slammed on the brakes over and over, jerked the wheel vigorously, and then when she saw an open patch of field, she took off through it. All the men in the back seat could manage to do was to hold on and stay seated.

_"Molly!"_ John shouted when she headed into the pasture. "You don't know the _terrain!_ There could be rock, or a ditch or a people fucking or - Ahhhhh!" said John as Molly pulled the wheel.

"Sorry, I hadn't thought of that, I'll go right back!" Molly got back on the bumpy road. Then she turned the Jeep around, and headed back the way she came, keeping to the road, and stopped when the country road intersected the smooth highway. Sherlock and John exchanged glances.

"Well, we're alive," Sherlock said, a little wan.

"I'm sorry," John said as he took the keys from Molly, and got into the driver's seat, "But you have just confirmed every cliche about female drivers I have ever heard, uttered, or tried to train myself away from uttering."

"Rubbish. I'm hungry," Molly said arranging herself in the front passenger seat.

"Hmm, yes, I am, too, rather" Sherlock agreed. "But nothing too fussy, hmm?"

"No, no, Sherlock, nothing too _fussy_! Ahaha! I'm sorry, you should have heard and seen yourself, though! I'm sorry, I just - Ahaha!"

John launched into another fit of laughter as he turned into the open road.

"I thought we were going to literally die while you were driving, Molly, I genuinely thought we were going to die when you turned into that pasture. On the other hand, John, I can't believe what you've put her through. It's really too much. An hour's drive in a _blanket _in January."

"But it was so much fun, you had fun, didn't you?" Molly asked, leaning to the back and kissing Sherlock.

"Mmmm, yes of course. I always do."

"Ok, Bed and Breakfast ahead. And I believe it will be pub food. Nothing too _fussy_. Ahaha!"

John turned toward where the moon was hanging low in the sky, and following the highway, sped toward the light.

_**That's it for now - having a gas with this, wish you were here, seriously - love to all you folks out there on the planet who are checking in on this fic! Hope it's a way-fun weekend! **_

_**More on SUNDAY! I would love it if you had time to review - even if it's in the form of questions that don't seem to be answered in the body of the thing. Thanks again and love!  
**_

_**Jenn of the Glenn  
**_


	7. Shy Boy 020213

**_I like things to be oblique, a little oblique (tell the truth, but tell it slant - you know the deal) - so, I don't think I was awfully successful here, but still fun, I think? Let me know. Sexiness, johnlock, sherlolly, johnolly - ...now I've said too much. _**

* * *

Shy Boy

John woke. What brought him to wakefulness, he wondered? He was sure he was deeply dreaming only a moment ago. Something about a beach and floating above the sand and water. Now, he saw it was morning. The sun was slicing through the curtains. Was it the light? He closed his eyes and tried to drift back into a slumber. He was just beginning to breathe deeply and regularly, when there it was, movement in the bed, he turned his body fully to the opposite side.

Sherlock was turned toward him, his mouth slightly parted, his eyes heavily lidded. When John turned around though, their eyes met and held. Sherlock's hand was on Molly's head as it bobbed slowly up and down in his lap, and he was taking quick short breaths intermittently between more regular breathing clearly reaching a plateau. Even though the three of them had been sleeping together for some weeks, John was unprepared for this sight and found himself momentarily stunned by the purely innocent sexuality of the moment. Like catching sight of a pair of wild panthers in heat. When Sherlock caught John's eye he smiled slightly.

"Good morning, John," Sherlock's baritone was a little husky.

"Hmmm," John smiled. "Good for you so far, hmmm?"

"Yes, ah, ah, sorry, we didn't meant to – ah, wake you. _John_."

"Hmmm?" John said.

Sherlock moved slightly closer, as if to say something to John quietly.

"What is it?" asked John as he watched a wave of pleasure register on Sherlock's face.

"Ah, Molly," he said and Sherlock closed his eyes and smiled, and moved slightly closer to John. John watched Molly moving, stroking Sherlock's flank and chest with her hands, slowly, slowly increasing the pace of her mouth, continuing to elicit appreciative sounds from Sherlock. John put his hand on her head, too, stroking her hair, and in doing so, touched Sherlock's fingers unselfconsciously.

"Ahhh," a particularly lovely moment made Sherlock open is eyes again, and lock eyes with his friend, they were nose to nose. Sherlock reached his hand out to John and grazed his hair and cheek, _he's letting me_, thought Sherlock. Then slowly Sherlock reached around to hold and stroke the back of John's neck. John smiled, relaxed.

_Will he let me? Sherlock wondered. Is he just relaxed for the moment, or will I be able to manage it? Will I frighten him off? _

Sherlock leaned in, intending to only lightly graze John's neck with his mouth, _salty or sweet, _he wondered - but John moved away before he could make contact.

"Ah, ah," John smiled.

Sherlock raised his head slightly.

"Oh, shy. That's rather, ah rather _attractive_, however -" Sherlock smiled. "Why are you being shy with me, John?" He leaned toward the doctor again, carefully, but John, leaned back away, just out of reach.

"Um, I don't –"

"Why are you so shy with me? Hmm? Molly? Molly, love, John's being _shy_ with me."

Molly popped up from Sherlock's legs and looked at John, her face red with effort, her hair a crazy lace partially obscuring her face.

"What, what's he done? What is it John?"

"Nothing, everything's fine," John reddened somewhat.

_Oh, what a lovely flush, I want to lick that all over - _thought Sherlock.

"You see, he's embarrassed because he knows it's silly." Sherlock said aloud. "Molly, I just want to – I just leaned over to – God, John, I've had your cock in my mouth, what's the problem? I just want to touch you a little while Molly is - being so lovely."

"Oh," said Molly, "I see. Well, I can't help you there, that's for you boys to figure out, I'm afraid. But I do see his point, after all, John. We're all – well, we're all _here_.

"Indeed," said Sherlock, "and it was _you_ that brought us here, wasn't it? Well, both of you. And frankly, I -, I want more of it. I want more of _you_ John." Sherlock realized he was getting a little stentorian and tried to soften his tone. "I'm sorry, don't want to frighten you, but, now I find this is getting a little silly, I just want to _touch_ you a little."

"Well, it's early days, Sherlock." Molly said. "I think we can give him a little more time, don't you?"

"Give _me?" _John was indignant, then softened and said with some hesitation, "You can touch me, touch me all you want, but you –" He couldn't finish.

Sherlock finished for him. "I want to _kiss_ you. There. It's said. I want to kiss you. John, this is a mad discussion. We're sleeping together all of us. It's just _us_. John, it's just _me._ Me and Molly. No one's here watching and there are no labels in my bed." Sherlock reached out, pulling himself closer to John, gently, _gently _touching his face, tracing his lips with his fingers and John let him. _Hmmm, he's letting me do this . . ._

Molly let Sherlock's's cock slip out of her mouth with an audible pop.

"Your sheets are _Armani_, Sherlock," Molly reminded him.

"That's not what I - agh, _Molly_, not helping."

Molly continued to stroke Sherlock with her hand as she spoke.

"I agree with you completely, Sherlock, and believe me, I'm _dying_ to watch -"

"_What_?" John was a little alarmed. Sherlock grinned, victoriously, Molly continued.

"But John's not ready, we'll have to _wait_ for him a little, hmm?" And Molly started to trail kisses across Sherlock's chest and back down to where she'd been occupied a moment before.

"No, no, Molly, let's pay a little attention to John, hmm? Yes, this morning let's pay more attention to John." With this Sherlock directed Molly's shoulders turning her around in John's direction.

"Ok," Molly shrugged with a smile, and brought her mouth down on John's semi hard erection with a hum. John hissed at the unexpected but welcome contact, and closed his eyes, tensing up, and then relaxing. He opened them quickly, however, when he felt movement in the bed as Sherlock repositioned himself to more closely face John. Sherlock lowered his mouth to John's ear and whispered liquidly.

"John, my dear friend, you're always on the edge of the bed watching us, aren't you? I don't know if I've seen you make love to Molly more than a few times - why is that?

"Whispering? Secrets? Something you don't want me to hear?" Molly looked up from where she lay with her head across John's abs.

"No, love, Sherlock's just trying to be - ah, _sexy_ - he's just complaining that I sit at the edge of the bed too much, that you and I -"

"Oh, I see, well, he's right, John."

"We have more time together than you think, Sherlock, when you're occupied. When we're with _you_ we want _you _to_ - ." _John trailed off._  
_

"Ah, I see. Well - I don't mind, I assure, you, but I want you to - you spend a lot of effort assuring that I'll feel - hmmm_, good - _I just want to - John, I want to do the same for you, yes? - I want _us_ - I mean, I thought _you - _When you said you wanted to share - perhaps I imagined - hmmm, _more_ sharing - than you did?"

John smiled bashfully, and chuckled.

"I suppose so." said John.

"Oh. I see. But, you don't physically run away, do you? You're still in the room, aren't you?"

John kept a smile on his face, his gaze averted.

"You realize you're turning me on, just doing that smiling-gaze-averted thing."

"Ahaha."

"And _that. Oh my god. _But, all right. I get it. You're not ready, of course, I can see that. I'm sorry to be so - direct - You knew, surely that you were getting into bed with an obsessive, yes? But, I'll back off, all right? - But surely you can just let me touch, you, hmm? Try to relax. I promise not to _kiss_ you, all right, since that would just be too terrible."

He stroked John's hair with his fingers, traced his ear, and jaw line, and ever so lightly, his chin, and the outline of his lips.

"Um, I –"

"Shhhhh. I'm only touching you, hmmm? I promise. You'll let me, won't you? Say you will."

"I, uh-"

"Shhhhh, just let me do this?"

"Ahhh, Sherlock - _Molly_ –" John's eyes closed with a wave of pleasure.

"That's right, just let go, concentrate on Molly."

Sherlock continued to trace John's lips, then his cheek, and ran his fingers down John's throat, greedily savoring every moment of contact, while John's attention was split between his friend and wife. John's breathing shortened with Molly's quickened efforts. John's hand was laced in her hair and gripped her head in place, guiding her gently as her sweet wet mouth bobbed up and down on his cock, now rock hard with desire. Sherlock was now inspecting John's ear, delicately running his finger tips along the ridges and valleys, stopping to pull the earlobe ever so slightly, running his fingers behind the ear, and then through John's hair, and pulling gently.

"Ahhh-"

"That's good, relax," said Sherlock, as he leaned in and grazed his cheek against John's.

"Sherlock –"

"Shhh. Just touching." Sherlock continued to stroke John's hairline and cheek.

"Ah, Molly, _Molly_, Jesus Christ –" As his hips started to buck more and more uncontrollably into Molly, John's mouth opened, and Sherlock was hard pressed not to lean in to taste him, but refrained.

"Oh, god, Molly, uh, uh, uh, uh." John was closing in on the end, and grasped Sherlock's arm, pressing his face against it, breathing 'god,' and 'Molly,' and other indiscernible syllables. Sherlock brought his face to John's hair, and unable to hold back, pressed his face into it, breathing hard.

"John," said Sherlock breathing into his friend's hair. And John came, bucking into Molly, crying out, then whimpering, still holding Sherlock's arm against his face, breathing hot and wet against his skin. Finally, John went limp, breathing deeply, and gently, Sherlock released his grip on his friend's neck and head, still lacing his fingers in John's sandy hair. John just lay there breathing deeply, utterly spent, but with a continued firm grip on Sherlock's arm.

Molly watched the two men from the end of the bed where she was sitting up on her knees, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Sherlock was still touching John's face and chest, entranced by the sight, it seemed. _Lovely, she thought. They are both so very, very lovely. No worries there, they'll work it out in time. Maybe I'll get to watch sooner rather than later –_ she smiled at the thought.

John opened his eyes to Sherlock's smug and doting gaze. John's hand was still firmly gripping Sherlock's wrist, and who knows how long Sherlock had had to maintain his position while waiting for John to come to and see it.

"Ah," said John, releasing Sherlock's arm.

"Indeed," said Sherlock, and smiled.

* * *

_**There's soooooo much J/S out there, it seems there's room for a little bit more indirect teasing out of the pairing, no? Hope it was fun for you - Thanks so much to all you reviewers, favers & followers out there - Please read and review if you have time! I always love hearing from you! **_

_**The next update is TUESDAY, 02.05.13 - 'til then, my lovely fellow travelers all my love, Jenn of the Glenn. **_


	8. Security 020513

**I hope this is fun, short and sweet for your Tuesday reading enjoyment. Molly is a little more present – I'm horrified to read up to here and see how little I've had her do. More Molly in the future, though I will continue to explore the John/Sherlock relationship, too. **

Security - I

The morgue was silent, but the air in the room prickled with expectation and Molly waited, smiling to herself, seated at a desk in the corner of the room. She tried to keep busy, or at least maintain the appearance of busyness with a stack of paper work that she shuffled back and forth. Hospitals were almost more populated and busy in the dead of night than during the day, and there was heightened security, so it wasn't at all quiet in the more travelled areas of the hospital. The silence of the morgue at this hour belied the very real possibility that anyone at any time could burst through the doors and shatter her reverie. She pressed her thighs together, pulsing as she waited. It didn't help. She thought doing other things. It didn't help. She could feel that she was already getting wet. And her nipples were hard, though she was sure it wasn't the temperature in the morgue that was doing that. She glanced at her watch.

One J. Eastenburg lay dead on the metal slab waiting for Sherlock and John. They needed a last look at it before they could confirm the case closed, but Sherlock had questioned Molly closely on the phone and all but completely confirmed that said Eastenburg bore only coincidental similarities to the other two bodies in the case. Eastenburg was in fact a true suicide and with the criminal caught already and behind bars on other charges, the case was well and truly closed as far as Sherlock was involved. But Sherlock was going to check in person for form's sake.

_Ah,_ she thought, _Here comes someone. Sounds like Sherlock's step, but where's John?_

Sherlock burst into the room, rounding straight to the body. He took out his magnifying glass and inspected the fingertips of the right hand, the single but messy bullet wound to the face and head, and the scratches on the knees. Molly put down her paper work and walked toward him as he worked. He was thoroughly absorbed, said not a word to her as she moved toward him slowly, carefully avoiding noise so as not to jar his work, like a cat stalking her prey.

She loved it when she could see him ending a case like this. The change from his focus on the case to his absorption in John and herself was - nothing short of - there were no words. It made her even wetter just to think of it. Her nipples were hot and really painful under her bra. _Finish, finish, finish the damn thing, please._ _Ah_, she thought, as he stood up from his hunched position, and put way his magnifier, _this is it._

Sherlock straightened, still looking at the body, all professionalism. _Any second now._

"Coincidence. This is a suicide, nothing to do with those other two, I'll call Lestra—_Molly."_

His sentence trailed off as he lifted his head and caught site of her, the light of the huntress in her eyes, slowly making her way to him, he gasped her name and closed the short distance between them and placed his total concentration, she felt, all the concentration and energy he had placed on the case was now upon her and could feel it, _loved _ feeling it, even though it hurt a little bit. _Just enough,_ she thought. He gripped her arms and pulled her to him, placing his whole mouth on hers, forcing her mouth open, and his tongue inside her, pressing her head back and back. Now his hands were on her back, pressing her closer to him, as she slipped her arms inside his coat, and up his back. The kiss deepened and then she felt Sherlock grip her bottom with both hands, kneading her pulling her.

"Security." She said, not for the first time. She hated to end the moment, but the morgue was a particularly well scanned area of the hospital, and if they hadn't been noticed already they would soon.

"Hmmm, are you sure? Come here," he said, taking her hand as Sherlock pulled Molly to a spot against the wall partially obscured from the view of the door.

"I investigated. This spot is not picked up on the cameras."

"Are you su—mmmmm."

He silenced her with his mouth, lifting the hem of her blouse out of her skirt. He slipped his hands under the cottony material and pushed her bra up over her breasts, and she gasped as the discomfort it caused, but it was only momentary. He pushed the blouse up over her breasts as well, and ravaged her, biting and sucking her nipples.

"Sherlock don't you think –"

He lifted his head to hers again, silencing her again with his tongue deep in her mouth as each of his hands cupped a breast, and pinched a nipple. Now he was lifting the hem of her skirt up to her hips and fumbling with his own belt and she helped with his zip. She managed to free his red and angry muscle from his clothes and stroked him firmly in her hand. Sherlock continued kissing her as his hand found her hot wet folds, and entered her rather roughly with two fingers.

"Ahhh," she whimpered, as he fumbled in his pocket with is other hand.

"Thank you for leaving your pants at home again, Molly dear. It's very thoughtful of you," he whispered urgently in her ear, his breath ragged. He finally produced a condom and handed it to her. He let her deal with the condom while he thrust his fingers in her, and kneaded her pliant bottom with his other hand.

"I didn't leave them at _home_, I took them off in the –ah, ah, ah - Where's John?" she asked as she finally slicked the condom down onto Sherlock's shaft.

She could feel Sherlock smile against her mouth.

"How long has it been, Molly?" he whispered hoarsely into her ear, lifting one of her knees and slamming into her, driving the breath out of her. She signed with relief, _how long __had__ it been?_ He lifted one, then the other of Molly's legs to his waist and she locked her ankles at his back, squeezing hard as he started to stroke into her, driving her back into the wall behind her. The wall where apparently no cameras were aimed.

"How long, Molly?"

"Too long, too long, ah, ah, ah, ah – I"

The room was quiet but for the couple's love sounds, sounds of struggling, of clothing, of wet flesh, heavy breathing, notes of frustration and satisfaction.

"How long, how many weeks? You must tell me. I lose count, I lose track."

"Only three. But the _door, _Sherlock."

"Three weeks? God. Oh ah, ah, ah, the _door_? Can't be helped."

_Can't be helped? _Here they were fucking against the wall in her place of professional employment - she could easily be fired – but _ah, ah, ah, ah, there's nothing for it._

Sherlock slowed his pace to linger inside her longer.

"So beautiful and wet, lovely, lovely Molly, you're lovely to be so ready for me when I need you most. Oh _god_ I love that you leave your pants off for me."

Sherlock was flicking his thumb expertly over her clit, and maintaining a languid but deep and inexorable thrusting.

"I love when you _switch_ from the case to us, ah – I love it when I'm here to catch you."

"Oh, god, Molly, if you weren't here – when you're not there I - I go a little mad – I, Oh, god, Molly, _Molly_."

Despite having slowed his pace, Sherlock came hard and uncontrollably into Molly with a deep guttural vocalization, and then the door opened.

**(next chapter tomorrow or next day!)**

**Thanks so much for reading – Sorry to end on the cliff hanger, but they're fun, aren't they? I'll continue this with a proper coda tomorrow (or next day, or even tonight?) Depends on what I get done today. I have a kinda big important slightly darker chapter coming for the weekend, but I want to work on it some more, it's turning out to be interesting – So maybe some more short and sweet smut for the weekend. **

**I'm sooooooo chuffed about all the lovely reviews I've had and all the views I've had from all over the world. It floors me every time I see my stats! I would love to hear what you have to say – even if you don't feel like saying any more than, 'hi!' And if you have questions, I would love to hear those, too. **

**FYI, you lovely guest reviewers, I wish I could respond to you, but remember, unless you have an account on the site, I can only give you a shout out here, which you might not see! FYI, only. Thanks again for all your lovely comments, guest and other reviewers! And all my fellow travellers all over the world. **

**Til next time – **

**Love, **

**JennoftheGlenn**


	9. Security II (coda) 020613

Security II (coda)

The door to the morgue opened and steps were coming toward them as Sherlock finished and buried his head in Molly's hair, breathing hard. She was at the very edge of her own climax, still quivering in Sherlock's now relaxing grip still trying to grind against him, but steps were fast approaching them.

"Sorry," was all he could say, whispering into her ear. _Does he mean 'sorry you didn't come,' or 'sorry I've let in an intruder?'_ But she thought she detected a smile on his lips and in his voice.

She gave up on coming now and concentrated on the steps coming toward them. Sherlock seemed unconcerned, and she took his cue. But she was unable to see the door from her vantage point, and she was still completely compromised, Sherlock cock still in her, her legs locked around him. The person who'd entered must now be standing quite close, as Sherlock slowly released her and slipped himself out from between her legs, but he remained close to her, leaning partly against the wall, partly against her shoulder and chest, breathing hard, nuzzling her neck.

"Well, what do we have here?" It was John.

"How did you disguise your footsteps?" Molly asked.

"Different shoes. See, trainers. Stealth. Ahaha. All right, Sherlock?" John leaned in, and rubbed Sherlock's back.

"Yes, just ah - ."

"Shh, no rush." John leaned on the wall next to Molly and took one of her hands in his, kissing it. "How was your day, love?"

"Just got much, _much_ better, darling, but, well - Sherlock, Are you serious about this wall not being on the radar?"

John answered for him.

"Hmm, not sure. I think it's being monitored, don't you, Sherlock? Isn't that the camera?" John indicated a black demi globe on the ceiling.

Sherlock was still incapacitated, but managed to restore his clothing, and step away from Molly, leaving room for John to step in before her. He leaned in to her, kissing her and nuzzling her neck as Sherlock had only a moment before. She took his face in her hands and locked eyes with this man. She leaned in and pressed her face to his chin and jaw, rubbing her skin across his afternoon beard. They kissed lightly, but he pressed against her with need. His erection was half way there, grazing her hip, and she took a deep breath in anticipation. John smiled at her, holding eye contact. He stroked her face with his hands.

"So lovely, my darling wife." He fingered her collarbone. "Still flushed." He kissed her collarbone. "So lovely," and then he continued with a tight smile.

"I hear you've been shagging my best mate behind my back in the morgue, hmm?"

Molly didn't like this particular game, but she allowed it, John thought it was funny and it never lasted very long.

"But I see he didn't finish you off this time, hmm? Maybe I could help you with that?"

He pressed against her again, his erection quite hard now, but he waited for her to make a move herself, waited until she was ready.

"How could you know that?"

"You hold yourself differently, you're, ahaha, quite _tense_, Sherlock was a little _crest_fallen. All kinds of signs, ahaha."

"You're getting good at this – science of deduction. What's happened to him?" Sherlock had wandered off somewhere.

"Yes, it's rubbing off, what can I say? Don't worry, he's fine."

Molly wanted more than anything to finish, but the camera thing was a monkey on her back.

"I'm, ah – more than a little nervous about this camera business," Molly confessed, trying to move away from the wall, away from John. But he held her in place, smiling.

"Shh, don't be," he soothed. "Only a few of the guys watching . . ."

"_What?"_Molly couldn't tell if he was kidding or not.

"Shhh." He wanted to wait for her to make a move, but he was getting impatient. He grazed her neck and cheek with his mouth again.

"Do you want me to finish you first, or would you like me inside you right away? Hmm?"

"John, we should go – we can get home and -."

"Ahaha, no, I don't think so."

He made it clear that he didn't want her going anywhere. She smiled then she whispered in his ear.

"I'm going to struggle, ok, but don't let me go .."

"Hmm, go ahead . . ."

She twisted her wrists trying to get out of his grip, pressed against him with her elbow, trying to leverage her way out from between him and the wall, but wasn't able to do it. She shoved him hard, and made a little gap between them, she tried to slip away, but he easily gripped her again, and pushed her against the wall with a little roughness.

"Ok?" He asked, biting her neck gently and smiling at once.

"Mmm."

"So, Molly, love, shall I, um take control and do what I want? Or would you like to tell me what you you'd like, hmm?"

"But, John, the cameras –"

"Shh, ok, I'll take over, I've got you." He said undoing his belt quickly with one hand, holding her wrist with the other.

"John, _no_, the cameras – someone may be looking – I don't think Sherlock _knows _for certain_."_

"The safeword is Amazon, ok? You say that, and we stop immediately, ok?. Tell me you understand."

Molly hesitated, then leaned in and whispered as clearly as she could in his ear.

"I understand that the safeword is Amazon. I love you. I'm going to struggle, but don't let me go."

Then she pushed against him hard, he held her in place with his chest against hers, smiling as he undid his zip and took his cock out of his clothing. Molly was struggling hard, now, twisting her wrists, and trying to shimmy out of his grasp making a desperate show if it. He had to hold her with both hands to keep her in place against the wall. She held still for a moment, and he kissed her, forcing his tongue into her mouth as she gasped for breath. She tried to let the weight of her body sink to the ground, but he held her up, pressing against her. He grasped a handful of the front of her skirt, and hauled it up over her hips, shoving folds of it into her waistband exposing her sex completely. He gripped the back of her neck, making eye contact, controlling her movements by pressing his body against hers. He pressed his hips against her, forcing the air out of her, and she was a little dazed. He lifted one of her legs, and managed to enter her, then slammed into her hard, harder than he needed to, he realized, and began to stroke into her, looking for a rhythm.

They were still eye to eye, and after a few of his initial harder, rougher strokes, Molly smiled.

"Well, you got me."

"Hmm, yeah."

"Is this really – ah – being ah, filmed? Recorded? Or _watched?_"

"I don't know. Maybe. Do you like the idea? Does it feel good?"

"Who's watching?"

"Ahaha. Just a couple of the lads in security," John smiled. "We paid them off, don't worry."

She shoved against him.

"Are you _serious?_ Let me go."

John held her tightly, and roughly.

"Safeword is _Amazon_. Say you understand."

"I understand." Molly said, and John began to stroke into her harder, until she started to plateau. He saw this and quickly slowed.

"Oh, dear, I forgot." He slipped out of her, and she whimpered at the bittersweet sensation of the physical abandonment. John sank to his knees.

"They said to be sure to show them a little of this."

John stroked her now glistening wet sex with his thumbs, then separated the lips, and moved his head to one side, giving the ceiling camera a clear angle to the apex of Molly's legs. _Hmm, he thought, she doesn't seem to mind showing a bit of this to a few of the lads in security. _He pushed her legs apart a bit more. _She's letting me, she likes it - _he thought. _Maybe I really __should__ get some lads in here from security._ He pushed his fingers inside her roughly, eliciting a groan from her. He wondered if she would try bolting now, he chuckled at the thought.

"And this," he said, kissing her sex lightly, then tonguing and kissing her deeply. He spread her lips wide, and kept his head at an angle away from directly before her. She grasped his hair, and threw a leg over his shoulder, pulsing against his mouth, he thrust his fingers inside her, flicking his tongue against her clit, then sucking and biting it gently until she came with little gasps and a long exhalation.

John didn't wait a moment for her to regain her senses, but quickly re-entered her, and fucked her soundly against this now well used wall until he came, grunting and swearing into her shoulder.

Ooooooooooooooooo

John and Molly collected Sherlock who'd made his way back to the lab, and the three shared a cab back to Baker Street. The happy couple were enjoying port together, when Sherlock came into the sitting room with a DVD. He popped it into the player, and the three were treated to a grainy black and white image of a cinder block wall. Then Sherlock and Molly came into the frame, and Sherlock was soon fucking Molly against the wall in the morgue.

"I see," said Molly, "You took turns filming it."

"Well, there was no _filming_ it, it's a recording of a piece of actual security footage. It will automatically be erased after a year. No one looks at it, unless something happens that necessitates looking. And in fact, we were both in the morgue for a while, and we needed help. And so we asked a couple of the lads from security to lend a hand."

"Oh, rubbish, I don't believe any of this anymore," Molly grinned.

"Oh, yes, the 'lads in security,' are most accommodating when live pornography and monetary compensation are on offer."

"Oh, not you, too." Molly shook her head at Sherlock who smiled sweetly.

"Did you like it, Molly? Thinking there were _lads_ looking? Hmm?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm afraid to say for fear of your arranging _real_ lads for some other time."

"I'll take that as a yes," Sherlock dropped to the sofa next to her, leaning in to press his lips into her hair.

"I'm afraid she did rather enjoy herself – how can we arrange it? We can't compromise her at work," said John, his hand stroking her leg under her skirt.

"I have a few notions," Sherlock said, a hand on her breast, kissing her.

"The pair of you will be the death of me," Molly extracted herself from the two, rose from the sofa, and poured herself another port. She looked down at the two on the sofa and considered.

"I get to say what happens next. Don't I, John?"

John hesitated, giving a sidelong glance at his friend.

"Umm, yes, yes I suppose it's only fair. – How did you know - ?"

"Oh, god, 'security video?' - this has Sherlock written all over it, you must be joking."

"Really Why would you - ?"

"So, I get to say what happens, yeah?"

"Of course, darling."

"All right then," Molly smiled and sipped her drink with much savour.


	10. Molly's Choice I 020813

**Molly tries to imagine the events of an evening. Slash, het, mention of m/m. Sherlock distracts her.**

Molly' Choice I

At her desk, Molly twirled her pen in her fingers with one hand, and twirled a strand of her hair in the other. It was three o'clock in the afternoon, things were winding down in the lab, and other staff members were either out getting coffee, or in meetings. She was left to hold down the fort in the lab. The paper work she was meant to be doing was shoved in a disorderly pile to the corner of the desk. She was reclining in her chair, an office chair with some give, and had one foot propped up, the heel of her shoe hooked on the edge of an open desk drawer. It was a completely uncharacteristic image of Molly, the usually very active Molly, always onto the next task, never taking a moment's break. One supervisor she'd had when she was starting out in her career had remarked in a report, "This woman never walks, but always is striding briskly to the next job in her day's work." Today was different. Her imagination had gotten a hold of her and she had given in to it completely.

Molly's imagination was fully engaged, and she hardly took in her actual surroundings at all. She didn't notice her skirt hiked up over her knee to mid thigh. She didn't notice that one of her blouse's buttons had come undone during the day and her bra and part of a nipple were showing. None of these things registered in her mind at all. She sat and imagined her husband and her friend engaged in various sexual scenarios. She was to choose an evenings activities soon, though she didn't know when, exactly, but she was getting a little obsessed with it, and her job was suffering this afternoon.

She imagined many things. First and foremost she wanted to watch the two men make love without her involvement other than as a silent but very present witness. The very idea made her weak and hot and faint. Just the image of them standing close together – when they came into the morgue and so much as leaned in close to one another to confer privately on one or another points of a particular case she felt herself get hot and wet all at once and had to lean against a table's edge for support.

But these things had to be orchestrated gently and patiently. She knew John wasn't ready for a number of things and she wasn't going to push him into anything. At the same time it was unbearably delicious whenever Sherlock took the lead and tried to kiss or touch John. So far John had never fully pulled away, or left the room, as he was certainly free to do. Instead John would follow his friend's lead in little ways, allowing him to gain small advances, win tiny bits of ground, and Sherlock had intuited this, and gone extremely slowly with his friend. Molly found that watching John surrender in this way, tiny bit by tiny bit was driving her absolutely insane. She wasn't sure, however if she wanted to treat herself to an evening of torturing John in this way. She didn't want to bludgeon the issue. She certainly didn't want to frighten John or make him uncomfortable, it was supposed to be fun, after all. She wanted to let the teasing go on forever, frankly, but she knew there would come a time, however remote it may seem now, that John would become more and more comfortable. So perhaps a combination of sweet tortures and . . . what?

"I have to go down to the MET, Molly." Sherlock had swung around the corner of the room, rounded the corner of her desk and stood above her smiling.

"Hmmm?" Molly looked up smiling. _Oh. _"Case closed?"

"Yes – ah –. Loose ends, and collect John." Sherlock's head swam as he took her in. He could almost feel the path in his body his blood was taking from his head straight to his erection. He tried to control it, but there was absolutely nothing he could do.

"You look quite lovely, Molly. Do you know what you look like, I wonder?"

"No, I don't. What? What do I look like?" Molly smiled up at him.

"I don't know."

Sherlock pressed his fingers into his temples as he looked down at her, one nipple practically visible through the lace of her demi cup, her leg hooked wantonly up over an open desk drawer.

"I don't know, but I'll never forget this. You're not you somehow, are you? What are you doing . . . ? What are you thinking about?" Sherlock smiled, utterly confident that she was thinking about the three of them. _What is cooking up for tonight, I wonder? Something delightful. I know it will be delightful. _

"Tonight, I think – tonight then?"

"Yes, ah, _that_ is, yes I think so – John ah, of course would be ah - . . ." Sherlock would always defer to John in matters of the bedroom, Molly knew. He became diffident and seemed almost unsure of himself if John wasn't around to answer even a simple question about how or when events would occur.

"_My_ choice," Molly said smiling, but with steel in her tone and her face still languid.

"Yes of course," And Sherlock smiled, knowing that Molly wanted to break John down in bed as much as he did, but neither was willing to be too forceful.

Sherlock continued to consume Molly with his eyes. When had she become this supremely confident bacchanalian? She was at once so pliant, so malleable, but not at all cloying, very much her own woman, very much in control of what she wanted, and how she would have it. Her expression is obscenely wanton, but her _voice. Has she been touching herself here? _He wondered_. No, _he determined_, she's just relaxed, thinking. Of us. Oh, god. _

"I must - ah go -."

"So, tonight at yours? I'll pack it in, and go now. See you there?" said Molly. But Sherlock found he couldn't physically turn around, he couldn't leave her without touching her.

"_Molly_, you –." Sherlock knelt at her chair, burying his face in her neck, gripping her exposed knee. She moaned as he bit into her neck dragging his afternoon beard across her skin down her throat and between her breasts, his hand gliding up the length of her thigh.

"Oh, love," she moaned into his hair as he tongued and bit her exposed nipple, his hand slowly gliding up her leg. He pushed the fabric of her pants aside, and gently explored her somewhat dry outer folds He pushed into her a little farther, finding her much wetter and then easily pushed two fingers deep into her. She moaned against his head, biting in a mouthful of his hair, and pulled it gently. He lifted his head to kiss her, and she drove her tongue into his mouth as he thrust his fingers into her.

"Molly, Molly, please let me have you, now - the closet, yes?"

"All right, if you promise not to leave me hanging."

"When have I ever -?"

"_Last_ time"

"That was because Lestrade came into the morgue shouting. I had nothing to _do_ . . ."

"Nevertheless."

"I promise, _please_, for gods_sake_!"

"Come on."

They whisked one another into a small coat closet where Sherlock had her blouse, bra and pants off her in seconds. He quickly undid his his belt and Molly was already stroking him with her hand as he e pushed her against the wall. Sherlock hiked up her skirt and her legs and pushed into her, but held her there immobile as she tried to squirm.

"Remember this?" He asked. The first time they had ever made love, just after he'd staged his jump, and she'd saved his life by helping him, they'd succumbed to their sexual tension almost immediately they were alone. In a seedy hotel she'd found for him to hide in, they were barely in the door before they started tearing off one another's clothing. Upon entering her the very first time he held her close, immobile, nose to nose, and she'd allowed his gaze to bore into her. He held her hard, determined never, _never_ to let her go, to hold her to him and impaled like this forever, and wordless, he had tried to communicate all this with only his eyes, then his kisses. Finally moving and struggling together, they quickly plateaued and their respective orgasms had been simultaneous and explosive, shattering the world outside them in a way that was permanent in many respects. Their bond after this hurdle appeared to be unbreakable, irrevocable.

"Always," She whispered fiercely in his ear, bucking against him with all her strength, and he answered her movements with his own. He slowed then, and placed his hand between their bodies, pushing his thumb against her clit, gently pressing it against her pubic bone in a circular motion. He watched her eyes open wildly at the contact, and then he used short quick strokes into her, which he knew drove crazy almost immediately. She came like a train, her whole body tense with a long hard guttural moan that he had to quiet with his own mouth on hers, for fear someone might hear them.

"Mmm, did you come, Molly?" Sherlock purred against her neck when the last waves of her pleasure had passed. "Hmm? Did you, dear? I wonder if you did? Maybe you'll tell me?"

Molly whimpered her assent and Sherlock smiled, kissing her, holding her, feeling the complete surrender of her body's muscles in his arms.

"God I love you so much, I love you both so much," Sherlock whispered, grazing her face with his lips. Then Molly felt him smile as he kissed her mouth.

"Do you mind if I come now, Molly? Hmm? Please let me, all right? Let me come in you now? Hmm?" He chuckled into her ear as he began to thrust hard into her without waiting for her to respond. It didn't take him very long.

...…. To be Continued . . .

**Molly's evening to **_**come**_**. Should post by Sunday 02.08.13 – Thanks to all you wonderful reviewers and followers and favers! I'd love to hear from you, if you have time, even if it's just to say 'hi,' in the review box, or in a PM (private message). Hope you have a great Friday and weekend! **


	11. Molly's Choice II 021513

**So here it is, at last the second instalment to Molly's Choice – There's a third on the way! **

Molly's Choice II

Closet sex always made Molly giggle, and Sherlock found himself smiling and chuckling as well as they put themselves and their clothing back in order. When they were both able and quite back in order sartorially, the pair stepped carefully and quietly out of the closet. Molly smiled and began collecting her things, getting ready to leave.

"See you there? I just need to go down there for a couple things, collect John and - We won't be long," said Sherlock.

"Yes, I'm going straight to yours," said Molly.

Sherlock made for the door, but had to turn around before he left.

"Molly," he said, stopping before turning the corner out of the office, "What are you planning? Hmm? Can't you say anything?"

"You're joking. That would be telling, Sherlock."

"I know, but I'm a little concerned about John. I know I've been a little, perhaps a little too unnecessarily direct, but I really don't want to alarm him. It's supposed to be - amusing, after all."

"I know. It's a bit of a problem. But I'm sure we'll all work it out, hmm?"

"Of course. Until then." And he was gone with a flutter of his coat's hem.

After gathering her coat and bag, Molly left Bart's, and hailed a cab. She let herself in to 221B with her own key. She mounted the stairs and entered the flat, dropping her bag, and hanging her coat on her usual hook. _My choice,_ she thought. But she hadn't come up with any specific plan. She felt a little naughty, like an errant school girl without the day's assignment completed. She smiled at the thought and shook her head. No, the problem of John was not small, she thought. Yes, it was supposed to be fun, just as Sherlock had said, but anything she thought of seemed silly. She thought of Sherlock undressing John. _Silly._ What about the other way around? _Silly._ What about turning her choice to John's choice? Letting John decide what to do, let him take the initiative with Sherlock – but that was the point, he didn't _know_. He didn't know how to deal with the fact of their friend in their bed. So, how, she thought, how were they to inure John to Sherlock physically without – well, without frightening him too much.

She entered Sherlock's room and undressed, putting on a dressing gown. She lay on the bed, waiting. No, Sherlock would have to take the initiative. But how? - it was precisely what John was shy about, precisely the trouble they were having. Then she heard the front door, whispering, a bit of a chuckle from each of them, then footsteps to the bedroom and they were with her. She would have to wing it.

"I always feel as though we're about to film a porno, when we're all in here like this, with dressing gowns" Sherlock chuckled, and his friends joined him.

"Molly, love." John knelt on the bed and kissed her, working his arms around her, holding her. "What are you going to do to me, hmm?" He asked, holding her, smiling and then nuzzling her neck. She whispered and giggled.

"Not exactly sure, darling. We'll have to see how things go."

"Well, that's not the rules." He was kissing her lightly.

"I know, but I think I have the essence of it . . . I just have to think of how to . . ."

"Whispering?" Sherlock smiled.

"No, no whispering, Molly's just thinking how to . . . begin." John rose from the bed, and Sherlock took his place, kissing Molly lightly, then pulling her dressing gown open, and pressing against her. She looked into his face, as he beamed at her. _He's always so attentive, _she thought. _He always begins with me in mind. _She had a sprout of an idea.

"Ready?" She asked Sherlock.

"Hmm," Sherlock rose from the bed, and stood next to the chair where John sat.

"John?"

"Ahaha." John's head dipped down, and he rubbed his ear with one finger. Nervous habit, Molly knew. She smiled and spoke.

"Just to reiterate, nobody's doing anything that they don't actually _want_ to do. And we stop whenever we want. We leave the room. If something seems impossible, the safeword is Alamo. Will you say it for me, both of you?" John and Sherlock said it simultaneously.

"Ok. John? Why don't you – undress Sherlock?"

"Oh," said John, as he rose.

"And if you want to, you can, well you can do whatever you like, John. But Sherlock, you must let John initiate, and you must be passive, yes?"

"Yes, of course," Sherlock smiled wickedly.

Molly smiled and watched as the two men faced each other at the foot of the bed. Sherlock hitched one knee onto the bed, and slowly sat down on the edge giving Molly a closer view, and putting himself in an inferior physical position to John who was now standing over him. _Good, good, what a good boy,_ Molly thought. John approached his friend, smiling, a little bashful.

"Ah, there's a smile," said Sherlock, "I thought you might be on your way to the guillotine, but now here's a bit of a smile. What a relief."

John paused for some moments during which time, Molly saw them each of them blush.

"Oh, thank you," she said, "That's lovely, so lovely."

After another few moments passed Sherlock got a little fidgety.

"The suspense is killing me, I hope it will last," Sherlock quoted as they all waited for John.

"All right, all right," said John. He reached out to Sherlock's shirt, but stopped, and placed his hand on his friend's throat, gently, stroking him. Then John's hand travelled down, and unbuttoning a button, he traced the ridge of Sherlock's right clavicle. He pressed the skin there and watched it go white, then flood again with color. Now he stroked Sherlock's neck with the back of his fingers, and John's hand was at Sherlock's throat again when the two caught one another's gaze. John was surprised, but Sherlock was smiling and seemed more than a little amused.

"How about the shirt, John?" Sherlock's deep voice whispered gently, patiently.

John pressed his lips together, and smiled nervously, starting on the buttons. When the shirt was open, John peeled the fabric back across Sherlock's naked shoulders and ran his hands along his friend's pecks. That was when Sherlock burst out laughing.

"What? What is it? _What _is so funny, please? Molly?" Humiliated, John watched as Sherlock leaned over with laughter, and Molly giggled in the bed. Finally Molly spoke.

"I think Sherlock is – used to something - um – he's probably used to something different, something a little more _practiced_, John. Sherlock – don't - you mustn't - really - ."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, John, I – oh my god."

"WHAT?, for gods sake, _What?_"

"It's just that it was as though you were – hahaha - checking me for a skin disease – no - partly checking for skin disease, and partly deciding if you would like to buy some poultry at Tesco's."

"_What?_" John threw up his hands and retreated to the arm chair in a huff.

"Is that what you do to women? Excuse me, Molly – oh, no, John, is that what you did with women when you – oh my god!"

"Oh, do shut up, for godssake."

"_Gent_lemen," Molly began.

"Look, I don't see – I don't see why I need to be laughed at while _I'm _– While I'm _trying _to – I mean – I'm terribly _sorry_ that I'm not up to date on the techniques currently in vogue in the _back rooms_ of the city's -." John stopped himself.

Sherlock paused in his laughing jag. John's comment hadn't hurt at all, but it sobered him. He couldn't help his mirth, and didn't feel a need to apologize for it, but John's comment reminded him of the loneliness of his previous life. Whenever he was confronted with the memory, the places, the _back rooms, _the men, the women - he was chastened. He cherished anew the safety he had with these, his dearest friends.

Molly let the moment pass, knowing that it had probably not caused any permanent damage.

"It's true, it's not fair, Sherlock, you mustn't laugh."

There was a quiet moment in the room, but then Sherlock started laughing again.

"Molly oh, no, I don't know if I can look at him the same tonight, I'm sorry, I'm sorry - ." Sherlock held his tongue, but continued to shake with stifled laughter.

"Well, _that's_ – that's fine, that's absolutely fine with me, because - ."

"Now, hang on, John. Can we relax a minute, Sherlock?"

Sherlock sat up on the bed and pulled his most aloof, posh, prick of a face, but he quickly dissolved again into giggles. .

"I give up," John couldn't help but chuckle at Sherlock's giggling fit, he'd never seen him this way before.

"I know, I have an idea," said Molly, "Sherlock? _Sherlock!_"

Sherlock sobered enough to sit up and face Molly though he continued to laugh.

"Sherlock, what if we – would you please – undress _John_? But that's _all._ Yes? Just un_dress_ him. John?"

"Fine, all right." John stood up, but quickly had second thoughts when Sherlock stood up quickly as well. This was definitely more dangerous, risky. His adrenaline kicked in a bit and he felt a bit of heat rise in his neck and chest.

"Undress _John_? Well, all right," Sherlock purred, shrugging out of his shirt, leaning into John's personal space in a somewhat predatory fashion. He locked eyes with his friend, his expression remaining merry, amused, but becoming more predatory more hungry. He stepped around John, quite like a bird of prey, close enough to smell whatever product John had in his hair today. He made eye contact with him again, and without breaking that contact said,

"When do I begin Molly, dear?"

"When John says he's ready, but nothing more than buttons, zippers and elastic. Do behave for heaven's sake, or we have to stop."

"Oh, I won't make us stop, I assure you," Sherlock whispered as he faced John, well into his personal space, nose to nose with his friend, smiling about as wickedly as John had ever seen him do and it was completely unnerving.

"All right, John?" Molly asked.

"Um, I don't, I'm not exactly -." He paused. _This is absolutely mad. Sherlock is in charge? But he has restrictions-. Only to undress me, and nothing more. Then what? Well, _he thought_, I can't second guess this all the way through. I have to – I have to – what was the word Molly used? Surrender a little, I suppose. _He swallowed.

"All right," he agreed, glancing at Molly.

"Ok, just let Sherlock know when to begin," Molly sat up and leaned forward in preparation.

The two men made eye contact again, but John noticed that Sherlock had taken it down a notch and was only smiling amiably, and not in that mad hawk-like manner of moments before. He had also stepped out of the doctor's personal space, and with his hands in his pockets seemed quite harmless. Was he even _slouching_ a little? John was disarmed for the moment, but he swallowed again, knowing that he was dealing with a master manipulator.

"All right, Sherlock. Take it easy though, please for god's sake."

John watched Sherlock's eyes flash as if there had been some electrical current involved, but it was gone in a moment. And then Sherlock was back in John's personal space, undoing the buttons on his shirt.

"When you're done, Sherlock, you'll stop and step away from John, yes?"

"Just as you say," said Sherlock, never breaking eye contact with John. Sherlock already had the buttons undone, and was easing the shirt off John's shoulders, still maintaining eye contact. Sherlock slipped the garment down off the doctor's shoulders as slowly as he could and as he did he whispered in his ear.

"New soap, John? It's very nice."

John was stunned by the immediate physiological response his body had to that simple remark. A buzzing, electric feeling, heat and - _No, no not that! Think of England. Her Majesty. _

"Now, wait a second. Is he allowed to talk to me?" John asked Molly.

"Yes, John, he's allowed to talk, for heaven's sake."

John tried to laugh this off, but it was alarming, very alarming how effective Sherlock's one little line in his ear had been. John registered a heat he'd only ever felt with women at this stage of physical intimacy. What other physical reactions would Sherlock be able to elicit from him? _Keep calm. England. Think of Charles and Camilla. _

It was uncanny, John thought, how he can maintain eye contact like that while he's doing all the work. John watched as Sherlock took John's shirt and carefully draped it over the back of the chair. He came back to stand in front of John, who still had on a simple cotton tee shirt. Sherlock slowly put his hands at John's sides, took a bunch of the tee shirt's fabric in each hand, and hitched the shirt out of the waist band of John's trousers. He held the shirt there for a moment smiling into John's face and spoke.

"Arms?" And he cocked an eyebrow. John complied, and put his arms over his head.

Sherlock ran his hands up John's sides, slowly pushing the cotton shirt up to his pecks. He paused a moment, now with his face quite close to John's, before he smiled, and slowly ran his thumbs over John's nipples. He then ran his hands with the shirt inexorably slowly over John's arm pits, and then, up his arms, finally, slipping the shirt off the doctor.

"Now, if anyone actually cares, that was a clear foul, any _number_ of fouls, really." John tried to appeal to Molly. "You saw what he did there, surely, Molly."

"Yes," said Molly, her eyes glazed over, her pose languid, wanton. "It was a bit of a foul, Sherlock. Shall we stop, John?"

John saw the fix he was in, now. If he stopped he was a spoil sport. If he allowed this sort of play to continue, he was condoning more of Sherlock's little fouls, and what bigger fouls were to come? _Oh god what have I agreed to, here?_ But he knew that moving out of his comfort zone was precisely the point of all this. Molly spoke again.

"We'll stop, then John? It's up to you." Molly was not at all on his side, he saw, as he took her in on the bed, pulsing her legs together, languid and grinning.

"Molly?" He scrutinized her more closely. _Has she been touching herself_? "Oh, god, this isn't fair."

John looked at Sherlock who was grinning, too, then he was suddenly serious. He stepped closer to John, not touching him, but noticing something – behind John? _Oh_, thought John,_ The scarring. _Sherlock stepped up to his friend, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"May I?" Sherlock asked.

"Um, it's not necessary- You have seen it before."

"Hmm. Not in this context, and never – um, never this closely." Sherlock ignored John, taking his brush-off as assent, and gingerly touched the massive reddened and purpled scar of his friend's shoulder.

"_Sherlock_," Molly warned.

"No – it's – It's all right, let him. He's just – it's scien_ti_fic, you know." John consented, allowing his friend to touch him.

Sherlock took in the scarring, catalogued the pattern, the color, size and depth, calculated what muscles and bones had been in danger, calculated what type of weapon it had been, and the bullet trajectory, noted the muscle wastage, however small, had been involved. He probed the area carefully, delicately with this fingers.

"Does it hurt? Do you have feeling still?"

"There are patches that are pretty much gone, on the surface, but it's very – erm, serviceable. Not much pain at all. I was really lucky."

"Hmm. Yes, I can see that you were. It's much more serious than I'd – Hmm. John. There's a lot of – you carry a lot of tension, don't you? If you'll allow me, I think you'll allow me, won't you -?" Then, stepping behind his friend, he took both John's shoulders in his hands, and squeezed, carefully.

John's head jerked back, but not in pain. Molly used to work his shoulders out like this, but she didn't have the kind of strength that Sherlock had in his hands, and he'd started to ask her not to bother. But _this_. This was good, so very, very _good._ He allowed it, as Sherlock's fingers ground into him again, searching out the tension, releasing it, smoothing it away. Most people couldn't tolerate the level of pressure Sherlock exerted, but John could rarely find anyone who could go this deeply.

"Ah," John breathed out as Sherlock continued to grind his hands into his shoulders.

"Should I be concerned, here?" Molly asked.

"I'm fine, Molly, it's fine," John assured her.

"That's not what I meant," she said.

"Oh. No, no - it's just that he's much stronger than you are, in his – ahhhh – in his hands, it's – it helps - you know."

"Oh, I see, all right." Molly was feeling a little left out, but she didn't put too fine a point on it. This was, after all, precisely what they were all trying to get at, allowing John to get comfortable with Sherlock.

"Lie down, let me work it out a little for you. Since we're here, hmm?" Sherlock's tone was serious and he managed to keep his delight at this new development to himself.

John melted face down onto the bed, then turned his head to the side, facing Molly, reaching for her, and stroking her leg. Quickly, Sherlock straddled him, his knees on either side of John's waist, but hardly touching him. John tensed up, immediately, feeling a little overpowered, but Sherlock was aware of what was happening.

"Purely professional, John, all right? Just the shoulders, then we'll start again, all right?"

"Ok," said John a little tightly and then he tried to relax under Sherlock's weight, allowing his friend to dig slowly, inexorably into his shoulders. Sherlock continued for a while.

John breathed as steadily as he could but the release of tension was incredible, and he vocalized it.

"Please let me knwo if you're in pain, yes?" Sherlock paused.

"God, no, it's – I can't tell you, um – it's good, it's very -."

"Ah, good." Sherlock carefully disguised his glee. He continued, working carefully, but deeply for some time, working out a couple rather tight large knots. But now, John noted, things were getting a little _too_ good. The pressure of Sherlock's weight straddling him, pressing him into the mattress, combined with the delicious rub down he was getting, was almost certainly going to cause – and there it was – he was getting hard.

Sherlock suppressed a chuckle as he felt his friend tense up beneath him, when he'd been completely relaxed only a moment ago. He had taken special care not to exert too much strength, or to apply too much of his weight to John's back, but just enough, _just enough_ to educe a common physiological response to just such stimuli. He sank down ever so slightly, adding a bit more weight and pressure to John's back.

"How's that, then?" Sherlock's tone was all business, as he released his grip on John's shoulders and smoothed his palms down John's back to his waist.

"Um, that's – ahem." John's voice was a bit strangled. Sherlock's weight wasn't at all unpleasant, and he didn't want to have to turn over until . . . "

"Oh, sorry," Sherlock hopped off John, curling up next to Molly. John looked at his wife and friend smiling at him, smug as hell. He saw that they'd intuited his erection, and he covered his face with his hands.

"Nothing to be embarrassed about, John," said Sherlock. "It's a perfectly normal physical response to – ah, pressure, and certain physical -."

"Shut up, _please_, I know you did that on purpose, I'm not a complete idiot."

The three of them laughed the moment off, and John turned on his side, propping himself up on an elbow, his face and ears bright red, but smiling.

"Ah," Molly smiled at the sight of John's bulging trousers. Sherlock tried not to smirk.

"Well, John? How are you doing? Are you ok with this? Shall we go on?"

John turned onto his back and put his hands over his face again in embarrassment and mortification. How much more of this could he handle? How did the removal of his shirt and t-shirt develop into this raging and now painful erection? _Jesus, he hasn't even taken off my trousers. _He dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets.

"I, I don't want to be a – kill joy – but, but –."

"Ok," said Molly. "Sherlock, no more fouls, ok, or we will really have to stop."

"Of course, yes, that was a bit naughty of me, before," said Sherlock reasonably, then he addressed John.

"But the back rub was all right, John?"

"Ah – yes it – oh, god. Yes, it was very – very – all right. Thank you." John continued to keep his hands on his face as if barring the light from his eyes could save him from further humiliation.

"I'm glad you liked it. Please feel free to ask any time," Sherlock purred.

"You're killing me, Sherlock."

"So, we're going on then, hmm? Sherlock?"

"Only if John wants to. I mean, he does – you _do_ seem somewhat unhappy. I don't want to make him uncomfortable."

"Yes you _do_! That's half your fun. Oh my god, ahaha." John half shouted, laughing a little.

"I feel I must point out, John, that if you were truly completely uninterested in, ah – well - physical contact with me - you wouldn't be uncomfortable at all. You would either endure this, or you'd leave."

The truth of this sank into John and Molly, and Molly watched her husband tense up, and then relax into the situation in what seemed to be a new and more complete way. _Surrender_, thought Molly, he's almost there.

"All right," said John. There was a pause. "Whenever you're ready, Sherlock."

"You really must behave, though," Molly cautioned.

"Hmm?" said Sherlock as he bounced off the bed, and reappeared at its foot, at John's knees. He knelt gently at John's side smiling at him, and undid his belt buckle, and zipper, casually, easily, then hooked his thumbs into the waistband of John's boxers, pausing. John realized he was about to have both trousers and pants stripped from him in one movement. Sherlock cocked an eyebrow, silently asking for permission, and John averted his gaze in assent. Then, to Sherlock's surprise and delight, John raised his hips, and Sherlock slowly slipped the clothes down John's hips, and then legs, just as he had done with his tee shirt. John's erection sprang free, and bobbed. It was absolutely tantalizing for Molly as she lounged at the side of the bed on a couple of pillows, watching greedily. Sherlock managed to scratch the skin on the sides of John's legs a bit with his fingernails, leaving long red streaks as he withdrew the clothes, and John hissed a little at the contact. Once the clothes were gone, John remained lying on the bed with his hands on his face again, but Molly could tell he was smiling, laughing a little even at his own embarrassment.

"Foul, John?" asked Sherlock. "I notice you still haven't left the room. Your legs still work don't they?"

"No, no. It's – that was fine. Oh for god's _sake_. Ahaha."

"Molly?" Sherlock asked, grinning. "What do you propose?"

"Well, I think we should go on, don't you?" Molly leaned over and kissed John.

"Go _on? _What do you _mean_, go on?

"Well," said Molly, "I do have a thought."

_To be continued tomorrow without fail!_

**I promise to get the next one to you tomorrow, ok? **

**The end of Molly's exhausting evening! **

**Thanks so much to all of you who have stopped in to read, fave, and follow! **

**And big, big love and thanks to all of you who have reviewed! **

**It really helps me come up with new ideas of how to proceed!**

**Jenn of the Glenn**


	12. Molly's Choice III 021713

**Here it is, at last! Sorry it took me a while. Thanks so much for your patience! **

* * *

Molly's Choice III

John was a little alarmed at the turn of events and he again found himself, ostrich-like, with his hands over his face in embarrassment, while Molly and Sherlock stared at him as he lay naked on Sherlock's bed. His erection was not abating in the least, and bobbed in the air of its own volition to his complete mortification.

"Here, John," said Sherlock. He was shirtless but still in trousers as he tossed a dressing gown to his friend on the bed.

"Oh, god, _thank_ you," John said, sitting up, putting it on.

"Oh, I was rather enjoying the view. And he was in a beautiful state of surrender, Sherlock, I'm sure you noticed." Molly pouted.

"Yes, I know, but there's no sense in him getting cold, _and_ feeling humiliated all at one go. Besides, _you_ don't know the next step, do you, Molly dear?" Sherlock's eye twinkled, and he was on the bed, pinning Molly beneath him, rubbing his cheek and chin over her face, neck and lower.

"Mmm, yes I do, would you like to hear it?"

John spun around, attentive.

"Yes, I would," Sherlock purred, tonguing the hollow of Molly's throat, and then lowered his mouth to her breasts, nipping at them.

"All right. John, dear, how about this? You wear that dressing gown, and you can tie it, like that, that's fine. And let Sherlock just – touch you. But Sherlock, no kisses on the mouth, all right? And nothing, _nothing_ goes _into_ John's mouth, either, full stop."

"Um, um,, um, that's not – I don't know if that's -." John became quite agitated.

"Shhh, John, I'm not done, all right? And, Sherlock, absolutely _no_ kind of ah - penetration, or _thought_ of any kind of penetration whatso_ever_, that's not happening, all right?"

Sherlock quickly erased any expression he might have on his face. He tried to keep a look of thoughtfulness playing about his eyebrows as he pressed down his utter elation at the infinite possibilities that Molly's scenario presented to him.

"No, of course not, Molly. Hmm, I don't knoooooow . ..John?" Sherlock managed to drawl out, trying to make it seem as if he wasn't completely satisfied with the plan.

Molly noticed that the sense of surrender John had achieved earlier had been compromised with the robe. She was a little irritated with Sherlock for giving John the robe. But what Sherlock would have told her was that the gown would help John to feel a little more secure as they set the rules of the game, and was easily dealt with later.

John was getting a little dizzy at the notion of Molly's scenario. He sat at the edge of the bed, feeling a bit of a sweat come on, and he noticed his hands were shaking. Sherlock noticed this and smiled.

"Oh, god, John. Look, Molly, his hands are shaking. I really think it's time to call this off. We'll just go on as we've been, it's enough for me. I don't need to – John, I'm sorry, honestly I've been too – I've been childish again, forgive me. Molly, Molly, love, go to him –"

"No, no." John held up one shaking hand, his mouth barely functioning, feeling as though it were full of cotton wool. "It's all ri- aghm, I'm all right. We'll, what you said, Molly, that's – um, agh . . ." John's mouth suddenly seemed to have no saliva, no moisture in it at all.

_Poor John, _thought Sherlock, _right into the palm of my hand._

"You _see_, Molly," Sherlock said, "Now he feels he has to do this _act,_ this military bravado, just to save face, and that's not at all what we're here for is it? – it's supposed to be fun, look at him, he looks as though he's to be executed. John? Do you feel as though you're about to be _executed_? Hmm?" Then Sherlock's voice changed, and his expression changed to patient amusement.

"John, it certainly seems as though you'd _prefer_ to be executed. Not very flattering, it must be said."

"Wait, what are you -?" John looked carefully at Sherlock, noticing the change in his tone and behaviour, realizing he was changing back to his normal demeanour from some kind of act.

Sherlock allowed John to see his smile, and in that moment John realized he was being wound up. _He's manipulated me into saying it's all fine, _John thought, _he's made me do just what he wants, but now – now he's __showing_ _me that he has manipulated me. Why? Oh. Oh, god. He wants me to want it, too. _

"You really are – ah -very good at that, I must say." said John.

"My dear friend, I could never – I genuinely don't want to do anything you're uncomfortable with. I'm not, well, ah - I'm not a rapist and -."

"Oh, Sherlock, no one's saying that -."

"Molly, dear, of course not, I use hyperbole to illustrate my meaning. It's just that – for all my, ah – _experience_, let's call it experience – in this par_tic_ular case I – ah, would hope that my attentions were – not unwelcome. I mean - at the very least."

John sat at the edge of the bed, his head spinning. _How has he done this? _John thought._ He's made me feel as though __I've__ been the faulty party. And he's made me want to let him. Let him do this, this – game. And he's done it with humor, grace, forbearance, dishonesty and god love him, finally honesty as well. Oh, god, let me strangle him now. _

"All right. Molly, darling, sit in the chair, here." John indicated the small arm chair that he was facing, where he sat at the edge of the bed. Molly hopped off the bed, and knelt at John's side. He took her face in his hands.

"I'm fine, go sit there, ok?"

Molly complied. John tried to relax as he felt Sherlock kneel directly behind him.

"Good lord, Sherlock, when did you take off your trousers?" John sighed, resigned.

"Problem? I thought that we - that is -." He hid his wicked grin from John as he fake stammered, but Molly saw and smiled.

John sighed again. "Never mind, just, ahhhhhhhhh."

Sherlock had slipped his hands up John's arms to his shoulders again, and squeezed carefully, but deeply.

"That's right, move your head around a little, good." Sherlock continued to gently work John's shoulders and neck, not as hard as before, but deeply, and firmly, and it seemed to help his friend relax.

"Yes, good, that's good." Sherlock's baritone now whispered gently, "I think it will help you to only think about sensations. Try not to assign value; even simple things like 'good' or 'bad.' Oh, and remember the Alamo, John."

"What?"

"It's the safeword. In case you feel – trapped. I hope you won't. But - Say it for me, please."

"Alamo."

"Thank you."

John tried to remain calm as Sherlock leaned in behind him and pressed his lips to John's neck, nuzzling him. He felt Sherlock's tongue run along his hairline, and then _kisses_, small kisses along his hair line then his tongue again.

_Wait a second, kisses? Licking me, kissing me? When was that agreed to at all? _John's mind tried to keep from flying apart as he took in everything his friend was doing to him. _But if I call a foul, if I stop, we'll have to stop, and redefine things again, more talking – I'm not going to win this, there's no winning. I'll have to trust him. Just give up, just give in - nnnnggggghhh. Oh for god's sake. _

John tried to keep his breathing regular as Sherlock took a mouthful of John's hair and pulled gently, then returned to his hairline, licking, kissing and nuzzling. John thought about what Sherlock had said, to only think about sensations without assigning value. Not a bad idea, because any value he could assign these sensations would have to be: hot. And it was only this that was bothering him, after all, this labelling nonsense. He knew it was nonsense, and what hot meant in this context, with this person of this sex and it was all silly. But he couldn't, just couldn't get past it. _And thus, here we are,_ thought John.

"Oh my god," said John, with a deep and sudden inhalation of breath.

Sherlock had taken his hands from John's shoulders and ran them around to his chest, pulling John's back against Sherlock's own body, and working his pecks with his fingers. All this, while Sherlock continued to kiss and taste John's neck, now with more insistence, more hunger. Now there was more biting, and now, John knew, there would be marks in the morning. _Oh for god's sake. Please, nothing above the collar line. Thank god I'm married._ He allowed it.

"Salty, I like that. All right, John?" Sherlock whispered into John's ear, teasing him, then he licked his ear as well, for good measure.

"Ok," John managed.

Tighter, Sherlock pulled John tighter to him, and now John could feel Sherlock's erection against his back. _Jesus, this happened very quickly, where on earth does one go from here?_

"Do you feel me? Can you feel me, John?" Sherlock whispered in John's ear, as he pulsed against John's back.

"Yes, yes." John tried to be agreeable.

Sherlock chuckled quite loudly, an echo of his earlier laughing fit at John's attempt at shirt removal.

"Thank you for speaking to me, at least, hahaha." Sherlock's hands worked down to John's abdomen and then his flanks, and back up his back. Then they were just all over his torso, chest, shoulders, back, abs, back and forth, while Sherlock raked his teeth across John's shoulder and neck and back. John felt quite faint, as he struggled to breathe deeply, but not hyperventilate.

"John?" Sherlock finally said, slowing down a little.

"Mmm," John nodded and Sherlock took his friend's face in his hand as he continued to stroke his back and chest.

"So, did you ever – when you were a boy?"

"Hmm, yes, there were a couple of - ah – cousins."

"Ah, hahaha. Kissing cousins."

"No, no kissing."

"Oh, no, no, no, of course not, hmmhmm." Sherlock was nuzzling John's face, but managed to keep up a _conversation_. "And?"

"Ah- you know, ah -group - wank, mutual wank."

"Hmm, sounds very lively. But you didn't let that define your sexuality, did you?"

"Oh, uh – no-I unhhhhhhhh." But John couldn't complete that thought because Sherlock knocked a bit of wind out of him when he put his arm across his chest, and with all his force, hauled John from the edge to the center of the bed, and pinned him down, smiling into his face.

"Roughhouse, then? Wrestling? Did you get pinned? Like this?"

"Unnnhhh. No, I've never before agreed to be passive."

"Oh, yes, of course." Sherlock dragged his evening's beard across John's jaw line, chin and down his throat. Then, he was kissing and tonguing John's pecs, and, _oh god_, his nipples, biting and sucking them as well.

"Oh _Jesus,_" John managed.

Sherlock stopped for a moment, looking at his friend and spoke.

"John, put your _hands_ somewhere, hmmm? Don't let them flail about like a pair of flouder on the deck. How about my hair? You know you want to. Go on, give Molly a show." Sherlock continued kissing and nipping at John's nipples. John put his hands in Sherlock's hair as directed.

"Yes, that's right, now pull a little. Ah! Not hard, just a little bit. Yes, like that, more hair, right, like that, that's better. Really, John, haven't you ever pulled a girl's hair?"

"Well, no actually, that's not exactly something I— ahhhhhh _Christ_."

Sherlock was dragging his teeth back and forth across John's chest as his hands worked down his sides, to his hips and then grabbing John's backside. The robe, John now saw, was about as effective against Sherlock's assault as suntan oil would be. Sherlock pulsed his erection into John's thigh, higher, and higher, while Sherlock smiled into his face. John's breathing was starting to become very fast and short and he was getting a little frightened. _Of what? Really, though of what? _John tried to reason with himself. _I've been in Afghanistan, after all. What is it? The unknown, merely, _he thought.

"You should try it, Molly likes it. Now, John," Sherlock pulled himself up off John, and undid the tie to John's dressing gown as he spoke, again revealing John's glorious erection. "I won't be able to talk to you for a little while, all right?" And with the most wicked of his expressions, he descended, slowly to John's cock, and took it in his mouth, as he maintained eye contact with his friend.

"Oh _Jesus_, Oh _god_." John hissed, but to Sherlock's delight, John _arched his back_ into the sensation. After a few strokes, though, Sherlock released John's cock, and licked his way down to his testicles, taking each one in his mouth, teasing them, and licking them voraciously, as John whimpered a mixed protestation. Then Sherlock's tongue ran underneath John's scrotum, and back to his –

"Holy mother of _god_, Sherlock, what are you _doing?_" John's body tensed and froze, but he continued to take in the sensation of Sherlock's tongue on what John perceived to be the most vulnerable spot on his body. Then he felt his friend stop, and _blow_ onto the spot he was just tonguing.

"Hmmm, I believe the vernacular used by today's youth is 'rimming.' What's wrong? Not good?" Sherlock continued tonguing John's opening for only another few seconds, then popped his head up again.

"Molly can you go and get what I asked you for?"

"Oh, yes," Molly assented and scampered out of the room.

"Wait, w_hat? _Fuck off."

John tried to get up, but Sherlock restrained him lightly.

"Shhh, John, stay here with me, please don't go. Please trust me a little. She's going to get something for _me_."

John paused. He felt Sherlock release him, and knew he could get out of bed easily, but still felt somehow honor bound to remain. Sherlock hauled himself up to face John, and then lay next to him, pulling John's arm a little, directing him to lie on his side as well. John complied and the two friends faced one another.

"What on earth have you done to me, and what are you _about_ to do?"

"You have been ravaged, John Watson, and thank you very much by the way." said Molly re-entering the bedroom.

"I'm done, ah – _assaulting _ you for now. That was quite delightful, by the way I - I hope you – well. Never mind." Sherlock stroked John's neck and chin as he spoke, "I just want to show you something else, all right?"

"That was about an hour's worth of fouls, Sherlock."

"Hmm. Did you enjoy any of it?"

"Ah-." John was speechless. If he said no, it was a lie, but if he said yes, -.

"Hmhmhm, John, love, I'll have to take that as a 'yes,'"

"Sherlock, did you just call me 'John, love?'"

"Mmmm, no, I don't think so." Sherlock chuckled at his use of the endearment.

"Just, don't for fuck's sake say it in front of Greg or Mrs. Hudson, or anyone else, please?"

Sherlock couldn't suppress his beaming smile at John and felt quite overwhelmed with affection for his friend at this moment. He ran his fingers through John's hair, traced his ear, his lips. He leaned in and kissed John's temple, and then so tenderly, his cheek. He kissed him again, and drew back, observing him. He could tell that John was resigned, he was really only enduring all of this, allowing it. But it moved Sherlock deeply that John continued to try to please him. He must remember not to force things like this very often.

"No, Greg and Mrs. Hudson wouldn't understand, that's sure," said Molly who was partly obscured by Sherlock. John heard a condom being unwrapped, and he raised his head to see what she was doing, but she was blocked by Sherlock's body.

"Don't worry, John, everything's all right. I promise. Will you – ah, put your – well, come here, come closer, just a little. Put your hands, look, you don't have to _do_ anything, just, yes, that's right, like that, that's fine. Ready Molly? I think we can start with two."

Then Sherlock clamped a hand at the back of John's neck, looking into his eyes.

Molly coated her condom covered fingers with the olive oil she'd brought from the kitchen and pressed her hand between Sherlock's cheeks. She easily located his puckered opening and pressed her fingers deep inside. She withdrew somewhat, and thrust gently back inside, keeping a gentle easy pace.

John was forced to look into Sherlock's eyes as Molly apparently sank two of her fingers into Sherlock. Sherlock's color changed to a scarlet in his face as well as down his throat and across his chest. His eyes glazed over, his expression changed to one of deep, open innocent sexuality. The mischief maker was gone and there remained this vulnerable, exposed young man John barely recognized. Sherlock swallowed, clearly trying to collect his thoughts. He reached his fingers to his friend's jaw line.

"John. You've ah – allowed yourself be very vulnerable with me – I wanted to, ah, reciprocate a little."

"Sherlock, you don't have to -."

"Shh, it's a pleasure. And I just wanted to. Ahhh, that's - that's good Molly. John, I – ah, ah – I just wanted to tell you, that this, - this is enough for me. If you never want to go further than this, ah, with me, I'm really, honestly fine with this, all right? I never want to make you feel – well, I don't know –ah - was it - at all - ?."

"It was – it was fine, Sherlock – It was fine – I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be -."

"Hmmm. That's all right. You don't have to say any more. I'll take that as a compliment."

John looked down, abashed. He didn't want to disappoint his friend, but he couldn't say more about this experience than what he had. He was too mixed up, he was too raw, it was too soon. He had a lot of sorting out to do in his head.

Sherlock reached a hand back to Molly, palm up.

"Molly? Not too much."

Molly poured a little oil into Sherlock's palm, and Sherlock drew his hand back.

"May I?" He reached down between their bodies and took both his own, and John's cock in his hand, and started to stroke them together. John hissed and arched his back into the pure pleasure of it.

"Good?" he asked John again, and John nodded his assent.

"All right, John." said Sherlock, and then began to pump his hand, in earnest, as he kissed and bit at John's neck. But it wasn't long before the younger man spoke again

"Oh, I – I don't think I can -."

"Me neither," John's voice was tight and high. Molly saw the state of things and increased the pace of her thrusts. Their climaxes were imminent when Sherlock leaned in to John's ear and whispered,

"John. John, say my name. I know – ah -it's idiotic, but I need –."

"Sh-, Sherlock, _Sherlock_-." The two men came almost simultaneously, spattering one another's bodies and Sherlock's bed with ejaculate. Molly set aside the little dish of olive oil, and curled up behind Sherlock, her arms around his waist, while her two men basked in their post orgasmic blush. Sherlock pulled John tightly against him, and slung a leg over his hip, possessively, and John allowed it. John even pressed his face into Sherlock's chest, breathing hot and wet against his skin.

Some hours later, the regular breathing patterns of three accompanied the advance of a yellow dawn light in the room. Molly was the first to wake. She slipped out from behind Sherlock, and carefully rose from the bed. She stretched, and turned to look at her men still in one another's arms and grew weak with the beauty and innocence of it. She didn't question her part in the triad, but knew the real crux of the relationship lay between these two. She smiled ruefully. Things would change now, she thought. It was exciting, but frightening at the same time. She wondered if she was strong enough to hang on through to the next development, and whatever it might bring.

* * *

**Phew, there you have it – Molly will have another night of her own choice another time, that will be different . . . That will be later – I have some new chapters I'm working on with some developments . . .**

**Thanks to all those of you have stopped to read and review and pm. I love you! And thanks to all you favers, and followers! Whenever I get a review, it's a wonderful inspiration to continue working on these stories!**

**Please shoot me a review if you have time! Even if it's just to say 'hi!' **

**Hope you have a great week!**

**Jenn of the Glenn**


	13. Four Poster

Four Poster

As Molly pulled her car through the gates of the estate, she could just make out the house at the top of the hill. A wonderfully stately old thing looking vaguely Victorian with grey stones, dormers and turrets, a lovely though somewhat recently built bay window. It likely had lovely gardens she would like to see, and walk around in. She hoped her part in today's investigation wouldn't take too long so she could see the gardens for a few minutes before the darkness took it all away. But when she saw the crime scene, and pulled up, she experienced a prolonged chill. The house was suddenly not so appealing, and all she really wanted to do now, was collect Sherlock and John, and get out of here. She managed to push her panic aside, though, and to remain concentrated on the matters at hand.

She parked alongside the other vehicles nearby, a makeshift parking lot at the edge of some trees that quickly became deeper woods. She noticed the time again, and shook her head at the wasted trip. How long would they even carry on tonight? She'd probably made it just in time to be dismissed. She got out of the car and made her way toward where there seemed to be the most people. She tried to maintain a spring in her step despite the gruesome scene, and the exhaustion from her long drive.

In fact Lestrade had just called it a day with more work scheduled for the next day. It had been a particularly grizzly finding. Seven graves in all, and three had been children under 12. Indications of the profile of this killer were all over the place, and Lestrade had called Sherlock right away. Everyone was feeling the chill of it, and everyone was feeling the exhaustion of the harrowing day even a particular consulting detective.

After the final grave had been identified and prepared, Lestrade called Sherlock over to it, and the detective was treated to the sight of a 55 to 60 year-old woman who reminded him every bit of his own grandmother when she had been that age. When he had been a child. Right down to the string of pearls she wore at her neck, the matching earrings and the remnants of her coiffure. Scenes containing images of his own childhood with Nan passed before his eyes. Then, looking more closely at the victim's face, his _imagination_ made up whole scenes of this dead woman's life, complete with children and grandchildren he knew she had, some of whom he had met while working on the case, some of whom he had seen in the present grim circumstances. He couldn't let go of that identification. He struggled, trying putting it aside. He shook his head, he squeezed his eyes shut, he committed the moment to the lowest dungeon of his mind palace and threw away the key, nothing worked. John had had to come to him with a gentle, 'All right?' It had calmed him immediately and only then he had been able to continue the day's work. This was the first time this had ever happened to him during a case.

If he had to be coddled like this, if he couldn't work quickly and efficiently at a crime scene – then how could he proceed with - anything? He spoke with Lestrade briefly, confirming the details that this particular grave showed. It was nothing at all unexpected. Then Sherlock quickly stepped to John's side and whispered, "I need a minute," and with no little regret at leaving John's side, he strode away from the graves vaguely in the direction the drive was taking him, past some of the parked police vehicles.

_Air air where's the air I'm outside the air is all around and it should be clear and comfortable to breath why am I strangling what are all these cars doing here I don't know where I'm headed just away why did Nanna give me that book and that pen the last time I saw her alive where is that book where is that pen I should have kept them more carefully so many things I should have kept more carefully where is Nanna buried I can't remember I must bring flowers to her I must tell Mycroft – Mycroft! Mycroft never had any __use__ for Nan while she was living, now she's dead all he ever __does__ is bring flowers. But when she was __with__ us I – I – I – shut up shut up shut up-._

_Molly. _

Here was Molly coming up the path beaten in the grass by so many crime scene workers, coming straight toward him. Her hair in its usual pony tail, her usual non-descript baggy clothing. The fact of her and her presence washed over him like a warm bath and he smiled at her. Molly locked eyes with Sherlock, stunning him with her sudden proximity.

"Sherlock, all right?"

He didn't say anything, just took her by the elbow and stared at her arm for the wonder of it and suddenly he was roiling in that lagoon of gratitude that usually lead directly to – here it was, the separation anxiety again, and with Molly right next to him and John just a few steps away. He felt his blood pressure rise, his neck and back stiffen, the air became thinner and his breathing quickened and became shallow.

"Sherlock?"

"Molly, lovely Molly. Um. Bad day. Come on, I've got to get out of here," he said to her, and steered her to the tree line, away from John and the graves.

John watched Sherlock walk away from the crime scene then noticed him meet Molly walking toward him. Then John watched as Sherlock turned her around toward the tree line of the wooded area, disappearing around some larger trees. John smiled to himself. _Probably just what they both need, pretend to run away a bit. It's been a hell of a week._ John knew Molly's job was stressing her out, as well, and neither he nor Molly was at all happy when he'd heard they'd summoned her out here. And it turned out that he'd been right, she'd only been able to get here at the moment the police were starting to pack it all in. _I'll catch up to them later,_ he thought. _Let them have a bit of a walk in the gardens, if they can find them. Ahaha, of course they'll find them. _What he couldn't explain, though, was a sudden desire to sprint after them, hunt them, somehow to pin them both, grasp them to him. It wasn't like him, he mused, to feel proprietary about his wife and friend and he wondered what these feelings reflected.

John returned to Lestrade about some details, and Greg announced the end of the day.

"Right, that's me done. Do you need a ride back to the city, John? Oh, we'll be out here again tomorrow, but I don't think we need Sherlock, yeah?"

"Right, Greg, I'll tell him." John internally rolled his eyes. Sherlock had told Greg about a thousand times in as many different ways that he had solved the case, but until everything had been exhumed, it seemed that Greg's wasn't able to hear it. _Well, it really doesn't matter. He has to do his job,_ John thought.

"Um, have you seen Molly?" John looked sideways at the inspector.

"Oh, when did she get here? No, I never saw her."

"Huh," John responded, "I don't know, but there's her car." He pointed out the car to Lestrade. No reason she shouldn't be compensated for her time, coming all the way out here for nothing, John thought.

A couple of police vehicles were pulling out of the little clearing near the tree line where they had been parked, and soon there were only one or two cars left.

"Oh, did Sherlock leave then?" asked Greg, getting into his car.

"Must have done. Probably got into one of the vans.

Sherlock and Molly had spotted the house quickly and headed up a hill for it. They rounded the corner of the house, and came upon the gardens.

"Oh, how lovely," said Molly, walking down a slight incline toward a fountain, some statuary, walkways, shrubs and small trees. Even in late autumn with only a few ever greens it was enchanting. Sherlock followed her. Molly followed a walk way hedged on one side with a wall covered in some kind of crawling rose, she imagined, though she didn't know for sure. She loved gardens, flowers, being outdoors in general, but was no kind of an expert. Nor did she have any practice, being at Bart's all day, and with no garden of her own. But it was a solace, walking in the open air, taking in the arrangements of the various vases, the layout of the gardens. It was a bit too organized for her tastes, a bit too French, perhaps, but it was undeniably lovely. She imagined a young girl's wedding here, another kind of fantasy. Then she remembered the crime scene, and the two dead little girls that had been reported to have been found among the other dead. No fantasy weddings for them. She turned to find Sherlock close to her.

"So lovely, then suddenly so -," She began.

"Suddenly so macabre."

"Yes."

He took her in his arms, and she brought her hands to his face, rubbing his pale cheeks, now slightly red from the cold with her thumbs. She smiled into his face, trying to seem encouraging, but she could see how troubled he was, and she wasn't feeling very strong at the moment herself.

"It'll be all right," she said, half heartedly, almost a question.

Sherlock managed a drawn smile. He knew she had no idea what was going on with him, but here she was guessing his inner turmoil again, and offering solace unbidden. He was confident she would be loving and kind and patient no matter what came up in life. _Here it comes again,_ he thought. The gratitude, the feeling he had for this woman and her husband was dizzying. And now, _the anxiety. _It gripped him anew.

He leaned in and kissed her a little desperately, and was immediately calmed. _Molly, lovely Molly how did either of them put up with me?_

He looked up, took in the house and turned to Molly again.

"Shall we break in? Look around? Bit of fun?" Sherlock smiled with a naughty twinkle.

"John?"

"John will find us, Molly, darling. A puzzle for him, hmm? Come on. John will always find us."

Lestrade was opening the door of his car.

"You sure you don't need a ride? What if she's gone off, too?"

"Without her car?" John smiled and then had an idea. "I know - Molly's probably over at that other site they were starting on, I'll go fetch her."

"Ok, John, we'll talk." Greg waved, slammed his door, and pulled out onto the drive toward the road.

John licked his lips and struck out in the same direction his wife and friend had been heading, and when the house came into view he made a bee line for it. It was a charming old thing, not one of those enormous horrors, but only a 10 or 12 room affair, by the look of it. The front door looked imposing. He passed it by without mounting the steps. He continued around the side of the house, and noticed how long the shadows of the building and shrubs were. The light was going. He turned the next corner of the house, and here were the gardens. Very charming. Walkways, topiaries, a fountain. Very ordered and structured. _Oh, Molly would have loved this. I hope she got enough time here._ He continued around the periphery of the house, and came upon a door almost obscured by a hedge, but which was ajar with a stone holding the door open a fraction. _Sherlock_. John entered the house.

Quickly striding through the rooms of the first floor, John encountered an empty study, an empty dining room, an empty bedroom, and empty kitchen and an empty though enormous pantry. On fire with the hunt, the chase, John blew back through the rooms and mounted the elaborate staircase that led to the upper floor, taking them two at a time.

The first door he tried opened into a huge room with tall windows which seemed to have the furniture of the entire house in it, all with appropriately spooky looking sheets covering the various sofas, dressers and other pieces. In the center of the room there was an enormous four-poster bed with the curtains still attached. In amongst the other covered and unused furniture, the bed looked strangely current, and in fact it was in use at that very moment, for John could see that Molly was spread out on the bed, and Sherlock was kissing her and stroking her face and hair. As John got closer, he could see that Molly was completely naked, and Sherlock was covering her with his body, rubbing against her. The sight drove John a little wild. The blood seemed to drain from his head quickly, and he felt as though he might break into a bit of a sweat despite the cold. A scene like this had been expected but at the same time, unexpected and he had been taken a bit by surprise. He quickly toed off his shoes and stripped off his trousers when he reached the bed.

"Ah, John. We couldn't resist the bed. Has everyone gone?"

"Yes, there're almost all gone, gone by now, I'm sure."

John was suddenly beside himself with desire, his head was spinning and he thought he'd pass out from the redistribution of blood, but he managed to mount the bed, and, as Sherlock moved off to the side of Molly, John managed to mount her as well.

"Molly, dear, did you find a pretty bed to fuck in?" He whispered in her ear.

"Yes, isn't it lovely – but, I think Sherlock's unwell, John. Sherlock?"

John's blood loss to his head must have been affecting his hearing.

"Mmm, yes, it's very nice, love. Oh, god, you're an angel, Molly."

John pressed into her languidly and Molly responded with a guttural appreciation. He began to move on her and in her, losing himself almost immediately when she spoke again.

"John, where's Sherlock?"

John tried to take in the rest of his surroundings at that moment. It was extremely difficult. The light was starting to go now and he could just make out Sherlock standing at one of the windows looking out into the garden.

"He's at the window looking out."

"Sherlock, please come back to us," Molly held out her arm.

Sherlock turned toward the bed.

"I don't want to make John uncomfortable."

"Make _me -_ Don't be ridiculous, come back, Sherlock."

"Hmm, you seem to have matters well in hand."

"_What?_"

"John, you've – we've offended him – Sherlock?"

"Sherlock, please come over here, Molly wants you to, ah - kiss her." John trailed kisses down Molly's neck and abdomen, finally scenting her between her legs, and kissing her lightly there.

"Please, Sherlock, I'm cold," Molly pleaded.

"Also, the sheets are full of dust and probably allergens." He attempted a fake sneeze.

"Sherlock, please, Molly wants you."

Sherlock regarded the bed and approached it with a few steps. He watched his friends, man and wife. _How perfectly they fit together, _he thought as he watched them literally do so_, how long, how much longer will they allow me? It can't possibly last, it can't possibly last, it can't possibly last. _

"Please don't be cross with us, Sherlock. Please come here," Molly pleaded.

"I'm not, I'm not at all I promise you – I just need - ." Sherlock wandered away from the bed, back to the window. He leaned against the wall looking out at the garden. The topiaries, the various statuary, seraphim and cherubim, the fountain where he had been kissing Molly, _lovely Molly_ only a little while ago. He closed his eyes trying to revive the moment, but the elder woman in the grave came to him instead, the coiffure full of dirt, the pearls broken and encrusted with filth. He opened his eyes, and the horror remained in his mind, so he tried to concentrate on the sights to be seen in reality. He looked at the garden as he waited for his friends to finish. He looked out at the walk ways and statues as he listened to Molly's keening and begging. She called Sherlock's name a few times. He wanted to respond, so much, _so much,_ but found he couldn't. What on earth was stopping him?

Sherlock was looking at the tree line of the woods when a large buck stepped out of the bramble into the open. A little way off another smaller buck and a doe stepped into the clearing of the edge of the garden. Sherlock smiled broadly and shook his head at the coincidence. They seemed wary, but unhurried. They seemed to be confident as though they knew where they were, and where they were headed and it gave Sherlock a bit of courage. Then he heard John begin to vocalize more loudly. His usually swearing, calling out 'god' and Molly's name, finally his deep guttural shouts signaling his completion and there was finally quiet. After a few moments he heard the couple whispering, and Molly's soft sobbing as the big buck turned and disappeared into the woods with confident and stately step, the others following closely. Sherlock stared at the spot in the woods where they had just been, and then John was at his side buckling his belt and Sherlock took comfort in his presence immediately.

"Hey – um. Molly is quite upset with me – for – um upsetting you."

"It's not you, John."

"Well, Sherlock, she's - well – she's crying."

Sherlock looked up at John and then at the bed where Molly still lay.

"Will you please go to her and just talk to her? Even if you don't want to, uh, although she – _she_ wants to, though, if you – What's – Sherlock what _is_ it? I didn't at all mean to exclude you. I think I may have been a little overtaken by the, ah, moment, but I didn't think I did anything to – Hey, can you _talk_ to me, please?"

"You didn't do anything, John. It's nothing to do with you. I'm having a – a - Come on, I'll talk to her, I'll talk to you both, all right? It's really time I did."

They made their way around the other furniture back to the bed. John sat at the edge of the bed, and Sherlock draped himself over Molly who was still sobbing very softly, quietly – having her cry, but not making a meal of it. It moved Sherlock deeply and made him smile with a bit of rue.

"Shh, no, no, no, please don't cry, Molly, love, don't cry –"

"But what did John do, what's wrong, what did we do?"

"Nothing, it's nothing you've done."

"Are you – you're not tired of us? You're not going to leave us?"

Uncanny, she'd hit again at his emotional life, no matter how deeply hidden he'd kept it. But she hadn't quite gotten it right, just the other way around.

"Molly, no, never, I'm, I'm afraid of-," and here he turned to include his friend.

"John, I'm afraid that _you two_ – ."

"Sherlock," John stretched out on the other side of Molly.

"I'm only afraid, sometimes that you'll -I don't know, grow out of this, somehow.

"Oh, Sherlock, please come here."

Molly put her arms around him and he buried his face in her neck. John relaxed somewhat, but his alarm and tension returned when he realized that his friend was now weeping - quietly sobbing into the crook of Molly's neck. _What on earth?_ Molly offered loving 'hush nows,' and 'love yous' and Sherlock returned with 'I'm sorrys' and whispered her name. Then Molly started unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt as she kissed him, and he quickly shucked off his coat and trousers. Their apologies and reassurances to one another became more urgent, and now they were saying one another's names, and other endearments, and soon Sherlock's hands were inside her, and pushing her knees apart with his legs. John heaved a sigh of relief and fetched a condom from his coat. He opened it and handed it to Sherlock who lifted his head.

"I'm sorry John, I'm – thank you," but Sherlock averted his gaze and couldn't meet the doctor's eye.

John smiled with no little concern and curled up at the edge of the bed and watched the make up sex of his friend and wife. _What is going on with him_, he wondered? Perhaps a serious chat was in order. Was this sort of relationship too much for him to handle? To _weird_ for him? He and Molly would have to get him to articulate his feelings, his needs to them. It might not be a bad idea for all of them to spend an evening talking. John wouldn't put too fine a point on it tonight, however. There was time for this. He would find a relaxed moment when they were all together to start a conversation.

Molly was ready to finish soon, John saw, but he kept his distance from the pair on the bed. Sherlock was also approaching his climax, but he was weeping again and John caught Molly's eye, exchanging a look of deep concern before they both went over the edge. Sherlock collapsed onto Molly, his hands in her hair, sobbing her name and then John heard his own name sobbed out and he couldn't hold back. He slid in next to the couple, just as Sherlock rolled off Molly, lying on his back in the bed.

"Sherlock, we're not going _any_where." John gripped his upper arm.

"No, what have we done to make you think – "

"Nothing, nothing. It's irrational. I know it is. I really think –." and he chuckled, through his light sobbing - "I could be going round the bend or something."

"Sherlock, this case was _master_fully solved. _So_ quickly - effortless."

"John- ."

"Sherlock, we're nothing without you," Molly suddenly said.

"Molly, what?"

"John, it's the truth, what are we without him? If he left us, John, would we be together?"

"Molly? Well, apparently not. Thanks. Thanks for letting me know that. That's lovely."

John recognized Molly's penchant for the dramatic in this assertion that they might not be together if Sherlock left them. He didn't think she was lying with cruelty, only using hyperbole a little too enthusiastically and realistically. He didn't give it too much credence, but it was alarming to have such an idea hurled at his head in such circumstances.

"_Seriously_, Molly," John continued, "Sherlock I don't want you to go anywhere, either, but, Molly -."

"Please, John," Sherlock was squeezing his eyes with his fingers.

"John, it's the three of us or nothing."

"_Molly." _

"Please, you two. Please." Sherlock's hands covered his face. "Please, just. Can you both just, somehow – I need – I need- ."

"What, Sherlock, what do you need?"

There was silence, as Sherlock clearly didn't know what he needed. Molly continued.

"John, put your arms around him," Molly said as she did just that.

John hesitated at putting his arms around the naked male body next to him, but did so anyway, even going so far as to press his face into Sherlock's arm and then to show his good faith he hooked one of his legs over Sherlock's hip. He was gratified to hear Sherlock chuckle at that.

"See? Molly said, "We've got you now," her arms a death grip around him.

"Yeah," John agreed, "No getting out of it."

"No! No getting away, Sherlock we've really got you now." And Molly squeezed him roughly, and John followed her lead, squeezing his friend with as much force as he safely could. Man and wife could feel their friend chuckle briefly then stop breathing for a moment. Sherlock took a shuddering, deep breath and his body relaxed between them.

"Ahhh. Ok," said Sherlock with relief. "It's gone."

"What? What's gone?"

Sherlock took in another deep breath, and another then another. He seemed to heal somewhat even as they held him.

"It's some kind of separation anxiety. It's been happening more and more – It's – It usually appears - much like today, toward the end of a case, and we – we three are to, um, meet and spend time together, and I – I'm quite, um, filled with - ah, there's no other word for it – ah, _gratitude_, - for you, ah both of you and – ah – "

Sherlock took a moment to collect himself. Molly and John were silent, holding their breath, keenly aware of what these sentimental confessions must be costing their friend.

"So, I'm – I feel quite fine, quite _good_ in fact, and then, only some few minutes before we are all to, ah, _meet_, I'm seized by a sort of panic attack, I suppose you could call it. I become quite consumed with the, ah, notion that you two will, ah, not be so – ah, will no longer have any need of – ah – I think you see what I mean. And then, it's usually gone once we're – once we've - when we're together. So that's good, it doesn't last very long.

"What just happened here, I don't know," Sherlock continued. "It's related, but a little different. I believe you noticed, John at the graves here, when I…"

"Yes, I noticed -."

"Yes," said Sherlock, and he related his identification of the occupant of today's last grave with his grandmother, and his inability to separate himself from it at all as he had always been able to do in the past.

"So, that's the whole story." Sherlock tried wiping his face with his hands.

"Well, that sounds as thought it might be a case of post traumatic stress disorder, if you ask me. Molly?"

"Yes, it can come on weeks and months after - events have occurred, or cease occurring," Molly said.

They were all silent as they got used to the idea that Sherlock Holmes was suffering from such a condition.

"Perhaps you would benefit from talking to someone?"

"_Your_ therapist, John?"

"Ahaha. Perhaps not exactly _my_ therapist, but someone –"

"The sooner you address it, Sherlock the sooner you can – "

"Mmm. Yes." Sherlock stopped them with his tone, then he continued.

"My dear John, my lovely dear Molly. I wanted to tell you, I need to be honest with you, and I should have told you about all this earlier, but can we just – leave it there for now? I promise to, ah – be – ah, forthcoming about it. And not withhold de_vel_opments. All right?"

Sherlock could feel Molly and John exchange glances and silent agreement. Their deep bond both pleased and unnerved him. It also made him feel a little left out even though the vast majority of the time he knew exactly what was being communicated between them. Even so, it fed the separation anxiety when he had it.

"Of course we'll leave it there, but -."

"Whatever you say - ."

"Thank you."

"But we must - ."

"I know we must," Sherlock nodded his assent.

"Sherlock, we really –"

"I promise we'll talk."

Molly huffed on her side of this naked man.

"I don't believe you for one minute," she said.

Sherlock chuckled, and kissed her on the head, then he turned to John. Sherlock leaned his body fully to the doctor and tucked his face into the crook of John's neck, and just breathed in his scent. Molly rolled with Sherlock, still holding him. This was exactly the kind of contact that John would usually shimmy away from, but he allowed his friend to remain and John even placed a hand at the back of Sherlock's neck stroking his hairline with his thumb, just holding him, doing all he could to let him know that the contact was not unwelcome or uncomfortable. He felt Sherlock relax another degree and the three lay closely together for some few more moments. And then Sherlock himself made a move.

"Getting a bit cold," he said. John and Molly released him and helped him find his clothing, then they dressed Molly, fetching her leavings from all over the floor. Sherlock smiled, retrieving this and that sock and under garment, and handing them over to Molly. And Molly smiled and giggled each time she was handed a piece of clothing, and then quickly put it on. It was easy, funny, simple. Like a child's game with children. No judgments. Nothing owed. A free give and take just like the three's lovemaking, Sherlock thought. _If only we could –_he realized he was wishing for a fantasy of non stop love or some kind of return to childhood and he cringed. _I can not go on like this, this has to stop. Is it my involvement with them at all? Must I __leave__ them? _ The thought stopped him, but he crushed it, thrust it in chains and consigned it to the oubliette. It seemed clear to him that it wasn't his association with John and Molly, but an underlying problem that caused these anxiety attacks. John's diagnosis seemed plausible enough. Some research was now in order, he saw.

Dressed and sorted the three stood together in the center of the open, now dark room, taking it in again. The light from the moon was surprisingly bright. But the room filled each one of them with a new an unpleasant emptiness – The room was empty yet still so full of mystery. There was a disappointment somehow that the mystery hadn't been fulfilled pleasantly and the three had been left with a bad taste in their mouths.

"Perhaps - lovemaking at crime scenes, um, might be ill advised?" John articulated what they all felt.

"Karma. Even if it didn't happen in the house." Molly added.

"Something may have happened in the house," Sherlock said, "But it's not at all relevant to the solution of the case." John and Molly experienced an extra shiver. They all regarded the bed they been in somewhat differently just then. They remained for a few more moments.

"Shall we?"

Sherlock led the way out of the door, and his friends followed. They all sensed relief as they walked away from the house even though the night was clear, and the moon bright. It lit there way back to the car.

At the car, John took Molly's keys as she handed them to him.

"Do you mind, John dear?" Molly kissed John with a 'thank you,' and got in the back. Sherlock was about to get in the passenger's side in the front when John stopped him.

"Maybe you could sit in the back, Sherlock? Keep Molly warm?"

_Kindness upon kindness that I will never be able to repay they wouldn't want me to repay no one's asking for payment or repayment just accept accept accept the moment for what it has to offer with grace just nod and do what he says don't stare don't say anything stupid but thank you try to maintain some dignity try to –_

"John." Sherlock put his hand lightly on John's shoulder, locking eyes with him.

"I think it'll be all right, yeah? We'll work it out together, if you'll let us."

"Yes of course. As long as you're with – as long as we're all - ."

"We're not going anywhere. We're not going _any_where. Now, go on, get in."

John shut the door on Sherlock and Molly, and got into the driver's seat. He started the engine and pulled the car onto the estate's drive, then out on the road to the highway toward the city.


	14. Break-in Before Coffee 022113

Break-in Before Coffee

Molly woke before the break of dawn, the pre dawn light having gently coaxed her from her dreams. She recognized John's regular breathing beside her: stlll asleep. When they were first married, John was always awake before her with coffee on in the kitchen. But after only a few weeks, he'd gotten used to staying in bed with her longer and longer, and now he let her get up earlier than he did. She was glad he was able to relax a little in this way, glad she could help him to it, and it was gratifying to see that it seemed to please him, too. He seemed to have fewer and fewer of the nightmares that had first plagued him upon his return from Afghanistan, and which she saw him experience rather regularly when they'd first started sleeping together. She tried to get him to talk about the dreams, but he demurred, and told her he'd save them up for his therapist. That had made her feel a little useless. But he had become more and more relaxed with her, more and more confident in their relationship. It began to seem to her to be the beginning of a long thread of real happiness in her life. In their life together. And here he was, just before the first rays of the sun, sound asleep beside her. She reached her arms around him, pulling herself close to him, and he involuntarily did the same, half waking. She reveled in the comfort he gave her, the safety, the seeming permanence.

"Morning," he mumbled, kissing her, still half asleep, but smiling, happy to be awake in her arms, happy to be with her.

"I love you so much," Molly said "It's nice to have you all to myself once in a while."

"Mmm," said John, "You miss him, I know."

"Yes, of course, but you -."

"Mmm," John was kissing her now, "No, you miss him. So do I."

"Family business? I wonder what?"

"I don't know, but Mycroft had to go, too. Bit of money involved, I reckon. You have to sign things quite often, don't you? And all at the same time and in the same place?" said John.

"I really wouldn't know."

"Neither would I."

"I hope he's ok."

"Mmm," John's kissing was more insistent now.

"M'worried."

"Mmm, I know, me too," John was moving slowly on top of his wife, now, gently moving her legs apart with one of his knees, but slowly and gently, rocking them into position, slow, unhurried.

"He said he would see someone, that he would take steps to find someone good."

"Mmm, did he?"

"Well, he told me that. He wouldn't lie.

"Well, it depends. Yeah, he would, he would lie, Molly. Did you push him a little? Sort of push the issue at all?"

"No."

"Sure? Molly?" He continued to kiss her, he chuckled softly and leaned down to kiss and tongue her breasts.

"Mmm. Worried."

"Yes, I know, but we're looking after him. We're keeping an eye on him, no?"

"Mmm, yes, love."

"We'll sort it out. We'll all sort it out together, yeah?"

"Mmm, love you, John."

"Love you, too."

They melted into one another, comfortably, slowly, their tender familiarity delighted Molly anew. _My best friend, my love, my rock._ As he entered her Molly thought, who else? Who else could give her _all_ this? _Who but John_? And then it seemed a pit opened in the bottom of her stomach as she thought, _Sherlock. _

John moved on her, deeply in her and they vocalized together, still kissing, then John pulled out.

"Oh, John," said Molly, the separation surprising her a little.

"Not going anywhere." John trailed kisses down her breast and abdomen, then rubbed his mouth into her sex, opening her, tasting her, tonguing her slowly, easily, conversationally. She rolled her hips against his movements, unhurried, relaxed for some long moments.

"John," she whispered, "John, come back to me, come back inside, darling, please."

Sherlock leaned in the doorway of the couple's bedroom, having just broken in their front door with a lock pick, a ridiculously simple operation. He'd have to see to their flat's security at some point soon.

He'd gotten away from the family home and bloody Mycroft earlier than previously planned, and managed to catch a much too early train back to the city. He knew Molly's and John's schedules, and he thought he'd catch the two of them at coffee, he was dying for a cup himself. But here they were in bed still, and quite delightfully occupied. He smiled, just drinking in their proximity, it calmed him, fed him, enchanted him. He wanted to barge in, surprise them, but he wanted to give them their space, too. So, for now he watched as John entered Molly, lifting her knees to his shoulders, eliciting appreciative moans from her.

Sherlock took careful note. It was all slowness and confidence. All gentleness and loving patience with John. And yet, Sherlock knew that behind that affable front, that open, friendly expression, there was a very tightly wound works to be found within John Watson. He'd seen his friend angry many times, certainly (not to mention his return after his jump off that damned roof), but he suspected there was some part deep inside this reasonable and intelligent man that was enraged over something. Had it been what he'd seen in action, he wondered? Or as a doctor both in general and in the service? Sherlock remembered a laughing jag that John had had over some item in the paper to do with parliament. Some infuriating waste of time and money, Sherlock remembered it had been anger that had set off John's laughter. The laughter had not been born out of merriment but of rage, and that rage bubbled quite noticeably to the surface but quickly disappeared, under control. A formidable man, thought Sherlock. _Lucky to know him, to have him, have them both._

He felt greedy and selfish wanting to barge into their bed and surprise them with his presence. He really must just take himself off to the kitchen and make them all coffee, for when they were done, he thought. His reverie was broken by the sound of Molly softly sobbing. It quickly ripped at him to hear her and be so close to her but unable to do anything about it. _What what what is going on is she in pain has John said something I didn't hear them speak what on earth could be wrong they seemed ok just a moment ago what should I do what can I do? _

John's separation feelings regarding Sherlock didn't have to do with Molly as much as Molly's feelings for Sherlock had to do with John. When Molly was enjoying John, either in bed, or in general, she felt guilty if Sherlock wasn't around. It was as simple as that. Whenever this happened to Molly, it triggered John's own feelings, especially in these intensely emotional moments. His own feelings about Sherlock often manifested themselves when he was quite alone. If Molly was out of town, or much less often, if Sherlock sent him off on his own on some leg of a case. He was quite adept at handling these ghosts of abandonment that lingered from the time when Sherlock faked his death. But when he saw Molly's guilt float up, especially when they were together without their friend, his own feelings would come like a rock out of a sling shot and hit him right between the eyes. It had happened quite often when he was with Molly initially, but then less and less as time went on. As they became more accustomed to one another and their bond deepened, these episodes had almost entirely disappeared, but here it came again. Now here they were again, both in tears, that dull aching absence between them, driving them into one another with greater and greater speed and force, trying to rid themselves of that empty hollow sensation.

Sherlock continued to listen at the door and heard Molly laugh through her tears.

"I thought we were done with this, John, love?"

"So did I, I thought, oh, Molly, god, it's been months, hasn't it been, oh god."

Sherlock was stunned to hear that John seemed to be sobbing, too, even as the pair struggled to their climax.

"Oh, shit, Molly, oh god. He'll be back, back in a few hours."

"I know, I know, oh, John, I think it's just, ah, his trip."

Sherlock froze. They were talking about him? They seemed to be referring to him and his absence. Were they missing him, too? Even as they had one another? Even as they lay together? His chest seized with emotion and guilt and yearning and love. _What what what should I do jump into bed with them in the middle of their orgasms or let them cry it out without me then reveal myself what a prat that would make me they love me they love me they miss me they need me they want me as much as I need love miss want love love love them too stupid stupid stupid shut up shut up shut up. _

Sherlock properly entered the room.

"Please carry on, don't let me disturb you."

"Sh-, Sh- _Sherlock!_" Molly went over the edge almost at the sound of his voice, and John quickly followed, also with his friend's name on his lips.

Sherlock chuckled and undressed down to his boxers, and slid in on Molly's side. He put his arms across John's waist as he still lay on top of Molly, and tucked his face into the crook of Molly's neck. He breathed in their scent, feeling the last waves of their climax wash away, and their breathing become more regular. Then, John slid off Molly to the other side of her and Molly turned to Sherlock, wrapping herself around him, kissing him and Sherlock let himself melt into her, kissing her back as she straddled him, more out of playfulness than anything. Then he broke away from her, and looked up at John who was kneeling up in the bed. Sherlock noted that his face was relieved and smiling, but still registered in part, the anxiety of moments before, when he didn't know that his friend was standing in the room. Molly slid to Sherlock's right side, and Sherlock held out his left hand to John.

"Come, John. Put your arms around me? Like Molly?" But John averted his eyes.

"Please, John, I - need you. We both do." Sherlock reached his arm to his friend.

"John, please, it's all right." Molly reached out a hand, too.

"Molly's got this side and I need you to –." Sherlock's breath hitched slightly and he stopped, still holding his arm out. They both recognized that Sherlock's own anxious condition had kicked in. Sherlock made eye contact with his friend, and John stretched out next to Sherlock, allowing his friend to put his arm around him, as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist.

"Thank you, much better. Yes, that's much better." They were quiet for some moments then Sherlock spoke again.

"I didn't mean to barge in, but I did get back a little early."

"Seems as though you got here just in time, ahaha."

"Yes, Sherlock, just on the dot."

"Hmm." But the scene he'd just witnessed still troubled him, and Sherlock felt he had to address it. It wasn't exactly his area, concerned inquiry, but he forced himself to form the words.

"Molly, John, what's all this crying in bed?"

"I know, it's ridiculous, but it still happens once in a while," Molly offered.

"_Still_ happens?"

Then John explained more concretely. He explained as carefully as he could that this was precisely what they had gone through when they'd begun seeing each other, before they'd approached Sherlock to join their partnership. They'd finally been able to identify it as the emptiness they each felt in Sherlock's absence. They were able to identify it, and forgive one another for not being able to take care of it. Sherlock listened carefully.

"I see," he said when John was finished "A bit of anxiety all around, then? How lovely for all of us." He paused and spoke again.

"I'm not going anywhere. As long as you -. That is -."

Molly leaned up to kiss him, as she heard the hitch in his breath as he hesitated.

"Shhhhhh. Everyone is safe and accounted for. The need for further articulation at this juncture is not required," said Molly.

"_What_? Ahaha."

"Ah," said Sherlock, "Just as you say."


	15. Molly Walks In 022413

**Hi, all - Just thanks so much for stopping by to read my fic - I'm having a blast writing it.  
**

Molly Walks In

**LATER:**

Once again the conference had made her late back to London despite the fact that on Sunday it had ended at two in the afternoon in the Hague. The mob in the hotel lobby slowed her down getting a cab to the airport. The airport traffic made her miss her flight. The second flight was late into Heathrow. Getting a cab had been impossible, and she'd shared one with three of the other doctors and hospital staffers from Bart's in the same position, to get to northwest London hoping for easier access to cabs once they were in the city. This theory was sound enough, but once they'd got to London, no one of their party wanted to leave the cab in search of another one, so they clubbed together and each took the cab home, and Molly ended up being the last. She was secretly pleased it had turned out this way, and was able to direct the cab to 221B, once everyone else had been dropped at home.

She had called John from the hotel as well as both airports. At Heathrow she had told him she'd be with other people for most of the rest of the leg home, and not to wait up and that all would be well. She urged him not to worry and he assured her that he would anyway. Sherlock had even taken the phone for a moment and in the most adorably pathetic manner had said, 'We miss you,' like a child pining for its mother. She rang off, and shouldered her bag and rejoined her colleagues waiting for the next cab.

_Finally home, thank god. _Letting herself into the flat, she was greeted by some still warm embers in the fire. The next thing she spotted were two empty wine glasses on a book shelf. _Hmm? _ Molly wondered. _ What have we been up to tonight?_ She glanced about taking in the detritus of a take-out hung her coat and bag by the door on her usual hook.

She rooted around in her overnight case for her night shirt and that's when she noticed the shirt, and the T-shirt. Yes, it was definitely John's shirt, she thought, as she moved to pick up the T-shirt. Yes, this was also John's. And his jacket. _What?_

Molly picked the clothing up in the dark room, and cast about, looking for other clues to the evening that she'd missed with her husband and friend. John's laptop had been left open. He usually shut it, she thought, and she carefully lowered and snapped the screen into the closed position. She then but walked on tip toe over to where the wine glasses had been placed.

She was near the sofa, now, and here was something else. One of Sherlock's button down shirts discarded, hanging onto the sofa for dear life. And here, half under the sofa a pair of jeans, no, not a pair of jeans, a pair of _John's_ jeans. Definitely John's as she recognized a tear at the knee. Molly's heart stood still. _What have they gotten up to, now? _ She realized it might not be what it seemed, but how, _how_ could it not?

Carefully, holding her breath, Molly stepped across the room and turned the corner to Sherlock's room. The door was wide open and she leaned into the room as far as she could without breaching the door sill. Regular breathing. There was no light at all, but sure enough, another pair of trousers on the floor in the doorway, arranged in such a manner that it seemed to point one further into the room toward the bed. She peered in, but there was no light, and it was hard to make out even the breathing pattern coming from the occupants of the bed.

What on earth has happened tonight, she wondered? Had things progressed between them physically while they were waiting for her? _Oh, god, have I missed their first time?_

* * *

**EARLIER:**

"Oh, goddamn it! Bloody fucking birds! Fuck me, _fuck_ me! Oh, for god's _sake_! Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker!"

Sherlock's reverie over his microscope and a particularly interesting bacillus was broken when he recognized John's shouting and swearing downstairs. He knew immediately what had happened. He heard John knocking at Mrs. Hudson's door, as the doctor continued his litany of colourful protestations.

"Jesus _fuck! _Goddamn cunting vermin, vermin with fucking wings! For Christ's sake – Oh, sorry Mrs. Hudson, I'm sorry – it's just that the pigeons –

"Oh, John, I'm _so_ sorry, look at you, they got you all down your neck! Yes, I've called the city –."

Sherlock ceased to listen to the exchange downstairs, turning the volume of it down in his mind. A family of pigeons had set up a nest just above the door to 221B, probably owing to the plentiful food to be found around the ground in front of Speedy's.

The now close-to-fledgling birds were eliminating their waste over the edge of the nest right onto the pavement and doorstep in front of the door. The baby birds would be gone soon, but the hole really needed to be shored up to prevent future expectant mothers from moving in.

Sherlock himself had had to bathe and change in the middle of the day, yesterday, having been hit himself. John had evidently gotten hit as well. _Should have called John to warn him. Alas._ Mrs. Hudson had assured Sherlock that the nest would be taken care of, but that had only been yesterday afternoon.

Sherlock looked at the clock. Well after 5 pm. It had been a good day and despite the fact that it was a day without a case, it had been productive, and resulted in many interesting findings. And even though John was somewhat late this afternoon, he usually arrived right around 5 give or take a couple minutes, Sherlock had not had the usual onset of anxiety that had been plaguing him for weeks and months.

He stretched, almost feeling refreshed from his two or three hours of study. How could this be? And it was to be an evening of waiting for Molly. She'd be in later in the evening after a conference again – had it been in the Hague? Usually some anxiety to be had under the circumstances, but here there was none. What was this, he wondered? Normalcy? A return to routine? If it was routine, he was very deeply happy with it, he thought, then pushed the sentiment aside to address the issues at hand.

Somewhat reluctantly, Sherlock left his microscope and bacillus and went in search of a clean bath towel. John was already coming in the door.

"Fucking birds! Fucking hell, god damn it! Sherlock!"

"Yes, sorry. They got me yesterday. I suggest you have a quick bath."

John was out of his jacket, shirt and t-shirt in a moment, discarding the clothing onto the floor.

"Why, John, I didn't know you cared," Sherlock smiled at the doctor's quick work of his clothing. John ignored him.

"What? No, just give me a tea towel, I'll -."

"No, I really must insist. Pigeon faeces is replete with – agh, don't make me catalogue it all for you. And the tra_jec_tory. It's not just a simple matter of – it's a kind of _spray_, and it's all over the place, you'll almost certainly have it in your hair and on your jeans. Let me see, oh god, yes, you're well hit with it. Here, right here, it's in your hair as well."

"Oh, all right. You're right, I won't feel right until I do, in any case. Thanks." John accepted the towel and went for the bath as directed.

"I'll get you something to wear. And John, do rinse out the tub when you're quite finished, no offense," Sherlock called after him as John went dutifully to the bathroom.

"None taken. Fucking bird shit. Christ." John was a little put out, but managed a tight grin.

Sherlock rummaged in his dresser for that set of pyjamas that was too short for him, and took it to the bathroom. He heard the water running, and knocked, waited for a response, and then slowly poked his head in, averting his gaze, but John was still in his jeans.

"Just pyjamas. Here."

"Oh, ta," John accepted the clothes just as his phone rang.

Sherlock knew immediately that it was Molly. John motioned for Sherlock to remain, and after a sickeningly predictable exchange between husband and wife, Sherlock thought, John handed the phone to Sherlock who said 'We miss you, do hurry. Here's John,' and handed the phone back to John.

John smiled at the longing and emotion Sherlock somehow managed to put into even the shortest of phone conversations like this to Molly. How did he manage, he wondered, when he was such a prick to just about everyone else but Mrs. Hudson? John wrapped up the call.

"Sounds like she'll be quite late again tonight. Fuck. Oh, I forgot to warn her about the birds!" John had been touching his hair, and came up with another clump of bird waste. Sherlock smiled to himself, he found John to be quite adorable when he was in a proper rage over something trivial like this.

"They're not at all active during the night. Have you got enough stuff in here? If you need any shampoo or soap or anything there are some things down here."

Sherlock indicated the cupboard, and John smiled, regarding Sherlock.

"I think I can manage," He said. It wasn't like Sherlock to be so accommodating.

"So – just like old times, again?"

"Ahaha. Yes."

"Ok. I'll order from Hee's for when you're through - the usual?"

"That'll be great, thanks."

Sherlock popped back out of the bathroom. These domestic pleasures had never been pleasures before, he thought as he strode toward the kitchen. He wondered at how simple every day tasks like ordering take out for his friends, giving them fresh linen, waiting up for them until late at night, could be so fulfilling. It must be what normal people do, he thought. It's made much of in the media. Simple joys. How potentially nauseating. _Well,_ he thought, _I don't have to tell anyone how happy I am, do I? No. It can be my little secret. _

Sherlock ordered the Chinese food and when he'd finished, he noticed John's clothes on the floor near the front door to the flat. He smiled to himself. They told quite a different story than that of actual events, just lying on the floor like this. He grinned as he thought of Molly and left the clothing on the floor.

He busied himself with clearing a bit of room from the coffee table. He opened a bottle of wine, and set out some glasses. He set out bowls and napkins. This little operation triggered a memory. When he was quite small, perhaps three or four, there had been a group of girls, his playmates, or children of his parents' acquaintance. Who were they, he wondered? The memory of that was long gone. But this had been the activity, he remembered. Putting out the proper cutlery, dishes, glassware and in the proper order, and in the proper places. Much argument and discussion had gone into each piece that had been placed on the little child's table. Sherlock hadn't gotten the hang of it at all, and was ostracized from further play for saying it was a stupid game. He remembered it was easy to wander away, and he'd found the door that opened out onto a garden where there was all kinds of insect activity, and it had been one of the most thrilling afternoons of his as yet little life.

John was finished with his bath, and joined Sherlock at the coffee table. Sherlock immediately took control of serving the food, while John regarded him with some confusion, then he grinned.

"All right?" asked Sherlock.

"You're serving the food."

"Is it ok?"

"I love it. Thank you very much," said John, accepting a bowl of his usual fare in precisely the proportions he would have served himself had he been serving the meal.

"The prawn toast isn't as good as Ho Yuen, but I prefer the spare ribs," said Sherlock.

John was smiling and laughing.

"Domesticity suits you," said John.

Sherlock tried to frown convincingly.

"Does it?"

They finished most of what they'd ordered, and John was relaxing with his glass of wine, while Sherlock did some perfunctory tidying, and then wandered over to a book case, and plunged into some journal, lost to the world. He seemed to become absorbed in it almost immediately, John thought, watching his friend. Sherlock leaned an elbow on the case, and read the journal on his feet, leaning, his head at an angle. _Such elegance,_ thought John, _and just like old times, indeed_. The doctor fetched his laptop out of his bag and set it up on the desk with his wine. He was happy to see his friend easily occupied with his interests in his presence. Since John and Molly had come back into his life in this new way, Sherlock was somewhat overly attentive to him, John thought, particularly while they were alone. And particularly on nights like this as they waited for Molly. _He's feeling more confident and at home with the arrangement,_ John thought to himself. _Doesn't seem to be anxious anymore, either. Has that dissipated? _John made a note to ask him about it later. Leave him to his journal, for now.

After a couple of hours, John got up and stretched.

"I don't think Molly will be home for a bit, Sherlock. I'm going to - give it up for the evening, I think."

"Oh, damn." Sherlock had forgotten about his half full glass of wine in his hand as he read his journal, and sloshed a little out onto his shirt when he heard John speak. He discarded the journal, set down the glass, and got out of his wet shirt, looking at the wine stain.

"How clumsy of me."

"Well, it's purple," said John.

"Yes," said Sherlock smiling. He dropped the shirt onto the sofa in such a way that an arm dangled off and onto the floor.

"Where are your trousers, John?"

"My jeans? They're in the bathroom, why?"

"Just -." But Sherlock was already half way to the bathroom, collecting John's clothing from the floor. He was back in the sitting room in a moment. He dropped John's jeans, with the pants still in them onto the floor next to the sofa, smiling.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Setting up clues to a crime scene. A little game for Molly." Sherlock showed John where his other clothes had landed and the story they told.

"Ahaha. Right, you're mad. I'm for bed." John laughed in spite of himself. Sherlock lingered in the room a moment then followed John into the bedroom.

John was already in bed when Sherlock came in. He shucked off his trousers, leaving his pants on. He stood in the doorway, holding the trousers and then arranged the garment on the floor in the middle of the threshold.

"Having fun?" John smiled and shook his head. Sherlock only chuckled softly, then got into bed leaving a wide space between himself and his friend.

"She'll like it. She likes games. Harmless ones."

Sherlock adopted John's position in the bed, flat on his back, with his hands clasped behind his head and chuckled again at his set up for Molly. Then, Sherlock rolled to his side, facing John.

John stayed in place without looking at his friend, but aware of his movement in the bed. The doctor was frozen in place now, a bit of a rabbit in the grass, trying not to move, trying not to attract any attention. This was the first time the two men had been alone since John had permitted Sherlock to touch him all over when Molly was with them. He'd wondered how things would change at a moment like this. Since that night, John realized, he had become more comfortable with Sherlock touching him in bed, but for anything to go forward with just the two of them - well he wasn't so sure. What to do? He stayed frozen for some few more moments, and then finally he took a deep breath.

"All right," said John.

Sherlock held his own breath for a moment. '_All right?' How delightful._

"All right, what, John?"

"You - can. If you want. If that's what you're – I don't know. Like last time, same rules. Agreed?"

"John."

"But one thing. Please take it easy, Sherlock, please – really you're a bit overwhelming."

"Hmm, Molly likes it."

"Ahaha. Please? All right?"

There was no such stuff in Sherlock's thoughts, but he was loathe to toss away any opportunity so delightful as this. Nor would he tell John that he'd misread his thoughts on the matter.

"All right, John." Sherlock smiled to himself, and pulled himself over to his friend. He rose up on his elbow, and draped himself across John's chest, putting an arm around his neck and one around his side, burying his face in his chest. He regretted having given John any pyjamas, and wished he could feel John's skin against his cheek.

John held still, holding his breath, half expecting another onslaught of activity like last time, but none came. Sherlock just breathed, lying across John's chest. Then Sherlock spoke.

"Must I always ask permission?"

"Hmm? Oh, I see." John considered. Sherlock was simply holding him, breathing calmly, relaxed. Maybe he just needed to be held, John thought. Like Molly preferred sometimes. At this thought, John almost automatically raised his arms out from under his head, and placed one around Sherlock's shoulders and his other hand on his friend's head, gently stroking him.

"No, you needn't ask," said John. "I mean, no, not for this."

At John's touch, Sherlock adjusted, pulling John more tightly to him. He purred his appreciation to John's response and lightly, carefully stroked John's side with his hand.

Sherlock's new and tighter hold on John elicited all kinds of physiological responses he wasn't completely prepared for. But the strongest sensation was that of safety. He felt a degree of safety he hadn't experienced since before he'd seen action. He closed his eyes, trying to remember. No, longer ago than that, he thought. Childhood.

John opened his eyes and saw that he'd been stroking Sherlock's hair at the back of his head as though it was the fur of some exotic cat, pulling the long curls, then smoothing them down again, carding his fingers through the thick hair and pulling again. When he visually registered that he was doing this, he stopped in mid stroke and held still for a moment.

"Please don't stop. I mean if you – don't mind." Sherlock's voice was fairly plaintive.

John continued.

"I didn't mean to – to stop," John said. _How sad his voice is._ John thought. _He was just chuckling a moment ago about his little joke for Molly. _He recognized, suddenly how deferential Sherlock had been with him lately. Always asking permission in bed, for the slightest thing, if he could lie here or there. And now this, too. His behavior had been like a kid starved for affection, John thought and was a little abashed. He was only just beginning to intuit how lonely Sherlock's life had been before John had initially stepped into his life. He tightened his hold on Sherlock with a deep sigh, and continued to run his fingers through his hair for some long moments.

Then Sherlock turned his head, bringing his face quite close to John's quite suddenly. The vulnerability in those eyes made Sherlock seem ten years younger than his age and John had to wonder if this were his emotional age. John froze again, his hand hovering close to Sherlock's face, but he managed to smile reassuringly into his friend's eyes, and stroked Sherlock's cheek, brushing a stray curl out of his eyes.

"All right?" John asked.

"You're touching me."

"Is it ok?"

Sherlock closed his eyes again.

"John. I cannot begin to relate how much better than 'ok' it actually is."

"Hmm," said John, continuing his movements, softly pulling and then ruffling his friend's hair again only to pull and smooth it again. John wondered how long he could keep this up, but it was only some few long moments before Sherlock's breathing became much deeper and more regular. But his eyes fluttered open again.

"I'm not too heavy?" Sherlock asked, his lids weighing themselves down.

"Shhh, not at all, not at all," John hushed, as if he were holding a three year old.

Sherlock fell asleep as John continued to stroke and comb through his hair with his fingers. And then some moments later, John drifted off, too, his hand still on Sherlock's head, his fingers deep in his curls.

* * *

**EVEN LATER:**

Sherlock woke with a slight start, but held still, listening intently. _John beneath me, oh my god he ran his fingers through my hair until I fell asleep how delightful how does he sleep like that I surely must be too heavy for him no he said I wasn't why am I awake? Someone in the room it must be Molly yes there's that ginger cologne she wears sometimes its not too bad where is she in the doorway ah she's seen the signs of the crime scene and doesn't want to disturb us how adorable._

He tried to extricate himself from John's hold, but even in his sleep John grasped him even harder, refusing to let him go. Sherlock chuckled as quietly as he could, but John woke up anyway.

"What is it?" John mumbled.

"Molly's home, John."

"Ah. Molly."

"Come, Molly, you're not disturbing anyone."

Molly crept quietly into the room, peeling off her clothes and pushing into her cotton night shirt.

"What's been going on here, you two, hmmm?"

Sherlock chuckled, turning to put his arms around Molly. John, he noted, was still half asleep, but he'd turned toward Sherlock and put an arm around him, pressing his face into Sherlock's back. Sherlock breathed deeply_. Routine small things I suppose I shouldn't have disparaged what seemed to be a common feeling among many others until I'd experienced it for myself now wait where have I heard that before?_

"Sherlock?" Molly giggled, "What's been going on? There's a trail of clothing. What have you done?"

Sherlock smiled, and kissed her, taking in her cologne and what of the city remained in her hair.

"Did you find the trail of bread crumbs I left you? Just having fun. It's not what it seems, but, there's been a bit of, um, progress." Sherlock bit her neck, and pulling her night shirt up around her waist, he stroked and kneaded her bottom.

"Oh, really? Well, you'll tell me all about it, yes?"

"Yes, darling, in the morning."

* * *

**So: next time - way-new, way-sexy chapter coming up - within the week. Hope you like! **

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	16. Molly Walks In - Morning After

_**Here's your Friday afternoon sweetie. I hope you like it.**_

_**Polyamory. There's no other word for it. **_

_**In which Molly gets an explanation for the previous evening, **_

_**but that's not all she gets.**_

**Molly Walks In – II - Morning After**

Molly woke and slipped out of Sherlock's arms as he slept. She trotted out to the loo as quietly as possible. When she came back, she heard soft male murmuring from the hallway and she smiled to herself. She couldn't hear what they were saying to one another, but she was happy to have them awake, because now she would get to hear what had happened the night before. And maybe they could get a little morning something going on before she had to get ready for work. She slipped into the darkened room.

Molly's eyes quickly became accustomed to the darkness in the room again, the pre-dawn light was just beginning, and she saw that the two men were now on opposite sides of the bed and there was a bit of room between them. She crawled up between the two with her back to Sherlock, putting her arms around John's neck.

"Johnny, Johnny, what happened while I was gone, hmm?" She asked teasingly, kissing him, and rubbing against him.

"Nothing, nothing," John demured, responding to her, but seeming to go a bit shy.

"Tell me Sherlock," Molly managed to turn her head to Sherlock behind her, who had already worked his hands up inside Molly's nightie, rucking it up around her waist and gently kneading her nipples between his fingers. He managed to kiss her as she turned to him before he spoke.

"Well, perhaps it was a small step, but it was not insignificant. Oh, Molly it was not nothing."

"Tell me." Molly was humming her appreciation to John's kisses, now.

"Well, John had gone to bed and was sitting awake when I put my trousers in the doorway for you to find."

"Mmm." Molly was kissing John, and she could feel him smiling against her skin in the dark. "So, John didn't take them off you?"

"Oh, no, no, but wait for it, darling. I got into bed, and I was a perfect gentleman, keeping my distance, all politeness and we lay quietly for some moments and _John_ said, and I quote, 'all right!' I was shocked. Hmm, hmm, scandalized."

John chuckled against Molly's skin.

"Did you John? How lovely and generous of you." Molly felt John hum his assent against her neck as he continued kissing her. She felt him put his arms around her, but they went all the way behind her, and he must have been stroking Sherlock, because the only hands on her now were Sherlock's as they pressed and kneaded her breasts. Sherlock's erection was pressing against her thigh, making her swivel and buck her hips backward. _Oo,_ she thought, _if I could just tip my hips backward another few inches I could capture him, and he could slide right in._

"Then," Sherlock continued, "I said ' 'all right,' what, John?' and he said, and I quote, 'you can.' 'You _can_,' Molly! Then he qualified that by saying something along the lines of 'same as last time, same rules,' or something, 'agreed?' Haha. Then he said I should take it slowly and that I was a little, what did you say, John? Overpowering? No, 'overwhelming,' he said.

"Did you John? Oh, John. I wish I had been here." Molly heard John laugh a little and humm his assent as he sucked and licked her breasts, licking and sucking Sherlock's fingers, in turn as he found them.

"You're here now, sweetheart, that's what matters," John purred a little smugly.

"And did you, Sherlock? Did you overwhelm him?"

"No, I opted for a quieter approach, and sort of draped myself across his chest and put my arms around him. He was surprised. I could tell you were surprised, John. I suppose he thought I would attack him again. Then I asked him a question. I said 'Must I always ask permission?' and Molly, do you know what he said?

"N-, no, Sherlock, wh-, what did he say?" Molly was gasping and trembling now, as John slipped two fingers between her legs and was exploring her, investigating her outer folds, her degree of wetness, her readiness, her openness, her heat.

"Oh, Molly," Sherlock whispered hot and wet against her neck, but loud enough for John to still be part of the conversation. "He said I _needn't_ ask permission, I must assume he meant for gentle touching and holding. He didn't say that part, but I think have that right. I think he'll tell me if I'm incorrect. Hmm, I seem to have it right, then. I needn't ask permission to gently touch or hold him."

"Oh, that's lovely," said Molly, but neither man knew if she'd said it in response to what Sherlock was telling her, or in response to John's fingers which had entered her and were slowly thrusting in and out of her as he moved his thumb over her clit. Sherlock smiled.

"Yes, it is, Molly, very lovely indeed, but then, _unbidden_, John put his arms around me, and started stroking my hair."

"Oh, John." Molly's voice trembled as her vowels were drawn out to the breaking point. Sherlock slowly put three of his fingers in Molly's mouth, and she sucked them, laving them with her tongue, covering them all over with her saliva.

"Yes, Molly, but then he stopped for a moment, and I asked him not to, that is, not to stop, if he didn't mind. And he continued. And he said something, oh yes, he said he hadn't _meant_ to stop. And he continued stroking my hair, running his fingers through it. It was very, very - lovely. Then I turned my head to face him. And Molly, darling, our faces were suddenly quite close. And he stopped again, but then, Molly, he stroked my _cheek_ and brushed the hair out of my eyes, and then continued to touch my hair and he asked me – oh, god, he asked me if I were all right."

"Mmm," was all Molly could say as she continued to suck on Sherlock's fingers, and John's fingers were thrusting harder and harder in her as she grasped harder and harder at him with her inner muscles, her arms around his neck.

"I said to him, 'you're touching me.'" Sherlock continued. "And he asked if it were ok, and I tried to tell him how lovely it was, but I don't know if I communicated it very well, how very lovely it was for him to touch me like that. It made me feel – safe. I felt safe, John," Sherlock finished.

"Yes, I felt safe, too," John murmured, but loudly enough for Sherlock to hear.

"Mmm," Molly said again, her sound muffled now by John's mouth as he kissed her. Molly felt Sherlock's wet fingers tracing down her spine, pressing between her buttocks and entering her puckered hole, gently but firmly thrusting in. Sherlock gave up his narrative in favor of finding a rhythm of thrusting into Molly at the same time as John. They established a pace, and Sherlock felt John reach a hand past Molly's shoulder toward him, grasping the back of Sherlock's neck. Sherlock was still holding Molly to him with one hand, but managed to lock eyes with John as the two men rocked their hands against her before and behind.

Then John removed his hand from inside Molly and grasped her upper knee, pulling it up over his hip, then he pressed his erection into her, gently at first and then harder, keeping pace still with Sherlock's thrusting. Molly and John rolled together then, placing John on his back, allowing Molly to sit up and rock and roll against him. Sherlock let Molly go, and was rubbing his face over John's chest, tonguing and biting his nipples.

"Do you see, Molly?" Sherlock looked up and smiled as he watched her struggle to her climax, her face red her hair in her face. "Do you see what he lets me do now?"

"Oh, god," Molly said aloud to no one in particular, "I'm close, darling, please, please –."

Sherlock ran his hand down John's flank, between his and his wife's legs, and cupped John's testicles in his hand, stroking them, caressing them.

"_Sherlock," _John hissed at the contact. "Molly, darling, come on me, please, darling come on me now,"

"Oh, John," Molly started her deep grunting and uncontrollable bucking with which Sherlock had become well familiar. She finally stiffened, moaning loudly, her spasms slowly ebbing out of her, and she collapsed into John's arms. Then she felt Sherlock's arms around her waist, hauling her up onto her knees, pulling her hips toward him, spreading her knees apart and entering her, pumping into her hard and fast.

As Sherlock pumped into Molly, he made eye contact with John who was sitting up watching his wife and friend. John slowly took his length in his hand and Sherlock looked as John touched himself, gently stroking himself as he watched.

"No, John, wait for me, wait - just a moment." Sherlock picked up his pace fucking Molly and came quickly, gripping her waist with one arm, gripping the back of her neck with the other. As quickly as he had hauled her off John, Sherlock abandoned her, and crawled to where John lay, taking his cock in his mouth, sucking him until John moaned his release, emptying himself onto Sherlock's waiting tongue.

Molly crawled to Sherlock and forced his mouth open with hers, plunging her tongue into his mouth to taste John's ejaculate.

"That's _mine_ you know," Molly admonished Sherlock.

"Only by law," Sherlock smiled, slipping two fingers inside her. His other arm was still gripping John around the waist.

"Oh, god – that was - ." John stirred, rubbing his face with a hand, the other he ran through Sherlock's curls.

"See, Molly, this is what he did." Sherlock arranged himself as he had been when John and he had had their moment and John put his arms around his friend. "I held him like this, and he – that's right John, he stroked my hair like this. And he let me fall asleep on his chest like that, stroking my hair the whole time."

"Mmm, lovely." Molly smiled as she watched the re-enactment of the previous night.

"Did I leave you hanging a little, Molly hmm? Did I abandon you a little too quickly?" Sherlock asked, alternately speaking, and gently tonguing one of John's nipples, then biting him tenderly.

"Come here, let me look at you, let me touch you." Sherlock licked his lips.

Molly complied, slipping her hips toward Sherlock, opening her legs to him.

"Here, put your leg here, yes," Sherlock draped one of her legs across John's. Then he stroked the insides of her thighs, and gently fingered her damp folds.

"Yes, put your other leg, yes, spread them as wide as you can, love, let John see."

John was just coming back to himself when he heard his name. He turned his head and was treated to an ample view of his wife's considerable attractions. She smiled at him, and he saw her look from his face to Sherlock and back again, obviously hungry for both of them to look at her and touch her. John reached out and, with a little re-arrangement, was able to touch her as well. Molly breathed a deep breath and grasped her breasts, rolling her own nipples between her fingers, scratching them with her nails. She closed her eyes, trying to discern which fingers belonged to whom, as the two men touched her between her legs.

Molly felt a thumb dip into her, then smooth over her clit, rubbing gently. _Who's that? _She wondered? The hand seemed somewhat more practiced, less hesitant, and she thought it might be Sherlock. Then she felt a hand running up her thigh. John, she knew. His fingers gently stroked her lips, then pushed into her, two fingers at first, then three, and thrust a few times before he removed them, trailing her wetness across her skin. Then she felt herself being parted by two sets of fingers. Keeping her eyes closed, she could feel one set of fingers working with the other in tandem in silent agreement, opening her, exposing her deeper pinker skin to the view of the two men. She loved the feeling of being held open, being gazed at by her men. She opened her eyes and looked at their faces, rapt with the vision of her. John looked up and made eye contact with her.

"Hello, sweetheart. When was the last time I told you how beautiful you are?" John fairly purred at her. She smiled and shimmied her hips to get closer and within the reach of both men. She saw them look at one another, and then she felt two fingers sink into her and she knew one was Sherlock's and the other was John's. They thrust into her together a little out of rhythm the one with the other, and they slowed. She looked again, and they were grinning.

"Oh, my god," Molly breathed, "Don't for god's sake – don't stop now!" She couldn't help but close her eyes again, just taking in the incredible sensation of being completely open and on display, feeling the assault of their combined hands on her and in her. They resumed thrusting into her, adding more fingers. She starting bucking against their hands, and then, she felt the hands recede.

"Wh-, what?"

"Nothing, love," she heard John say, "We just want to see you suffer a little."

Molly whimpered, and ground her hips, shimmying closer, bucking and writhing in the sheets.

"Please, _please-." _She complained.

"Oh, so lovely," Sherlock breathed. She felt the two hands open her again, and one set of fingers entered her, while another swirled around her clit, and she gasped. Then she felt a third set of fingers on her, and she cried out as more fingers were entered into her, probing, thrusting. Finally, one of the hands, wet with her juices, lifted out of her, and probing lower, pressed a digit into her tighter opening. She lifted her hips as she felt the adventurous hand seek her other hole, and pressed herself forward, opening slightly, accepting the penetration with a little cry.

Molly's eyes were closed again, and she tried to sort out what was happening visually in her mind. There were fingers inside her, fingers on her clit and fingers deep in her bum and all were thrusting, teasing and twisting in her. Suddenly she felt hot breath on her thigh and then a tongue tentatively and then much less reservedly press against her clit. _Who is it, who's doing that?_ She struggled for comprehension, but it didn't matter it was so incredibly and unreservedly _good_. Then suddenly, insanely, she felt two mouths, two tongues lapping at her and she had to open her eyes.

Two heads bobbed between her legs, bobbing back and forth in what seemed to be an orderly rhythmic arrangement. She rolled her hips slightly against their mouths, but ultimately had to challenge herself to hold completely still and let them do what they were trying to do, drive her off the edge. She ended up in a compromise. She held her hips still, but pulsed with her gluts forward and back ever so slightly, pressing her sex against the mouths and fingers that were now bringing closer and closer to the end.

She looked for a moment as they worked in tandem, and wondered how much contact they were making with one another? Surely their tongues, their mouths were touching from time to time as they - Suddenly her face and neck went hot and the order of the world was a chaos. Seemingly without any warning she was spasming out of control, bucking her hips and growling. She arched her back spewing out a lot of nonsense including but not exclusively 'oh, god, John, Sherlock, fuck, fuck, fuck!' She felt both sets of hands and both mouths pick up their pace, thrusting deeper, twisting more unpredictably and lapping with more enthusiasm as the world behind her closed eyes shattered and went white and then black.

After the shouting and her total release, Molly opened her eyes as her spasms still waved through her fading little by little. John and Sherlock, she saw were kneeling up in the bed between her knees, her legs still completely spread. Sherlock's hands were holding John's face gently and he was licking John's face, and John was licking him back, more hesitantly, but participating nonetheless, his hands placed lightly on Sherlock's arms. It wasn't a kiss, their mouths didn't meet. It was more animalistic, more primal, a cleaning, grooming ritual. Molly gasped when she saw them. John looked at her and was a little surprised at being observed.

"Please, John -." Molly reassured him. John smiled and reddened, now a little bashful. But Sherlock coaxed him back to face him, and Molly watched as they continued to lick the taste of her off one another's skin.

Later as they dozed in one another's arms, they found themselves giggling one after the other, quietly and to themselves.

"What's funny, Molly?" John asked.

"Nothing. Go to sleep, darling."

Then Sherlock chuckled.

"What is it, what's so funny?" John was a little concerned.

"It's not about _you_, John," Sherlock responded, stroking his friend's flank and gripping his bottom, trying not to be too greedy for his new privileges with John, but unable to resist touching him whenever possible. They were quiet for a time and John chuckled aloud.

"You see, you _see,_" said Molly.

"It was quite, I mean it was _quite -._" Sherlock chuckled again.

"How in the _world_ -." John began and laughed.

"Yes." Molly agreed.

"I mean how in the wide, wide world are we ever going to top this? Or live up to it?"

"Shh, that's not -." Sherlock began.

"That's true, Sherlock's right." Molly said. "But I have an idea."

"Haha. Molly, you just said, 'That's true, Sherlock's right, but I have an idea.' Really, Molly," Sherlock laughed again.

"Ahaha, what, Molly, what's your idea?" asked John.

"Shh. It has to be a surprise."

"God. 'O little did my mother dream when first she cradled me.'" John quoted.

"What's that?"

"Old folk song. The four Marys." Said Molly.

"Oh, right. Um. John, please don't evoke anyone's _mother_ in this room. Particularly _my_ mother. Particularly when a woman is using my backside for a pillow."

"Ahaha. Just as you say."

_**There ya go. Are you at work today? Ahaha. **_

_**(I put this out there a little quickly without my usual amount of editing**_

– _**sorry for any errors.)**_

_**It would be very wonderful of you if you could leave a review.**_

_**It doesn't have to be fancy – you can just say 'hi!' I'd love to hear from you. **_

_**If you want to say something specific, but don't want your review to be public, just leave me a PM (private message). Or just say 'hi' there, too!**_

_**I have another kind of WILD chapter coming up in a couple days. **_

_**Molly's WILD idea. **_

_**It's almost ready, but I really felt like there should be **_

_**a little follow-up to the last one. **_

_**Many thanks all you reviewers, favers and followers! I love you!**_


	17. Full Body Paint -I- The Artist 030313

**Perhaps Molly read an advert in a magazine and decides to get a full body painting done for John. She asks for Sherlock to accompany her. **

**(I do not own BBC Sherlock, or any of that there)**

**Full Body Paint – Meet the Artist**

Sherlock slammed into the morgue, irritated to be there on such routine matter in his opinion. He wouldn't be here at all but for Lestrade's hounding him to rule out one of Molly's charges, one Paidrica Bachman age 79 as a possible second victim of a possible serial murder spree. Sherlock could tell by the shoes, dentistry and skin tone of the man, the possible serial killer they held in custody, that he didn't have it in him, but he dutifully went down to the morgue in any case.

"Bachman, it's for Lestrade. I believe you know all about it," Sherlock fairly barked at Molly. She tried to make eye contact, but Sherlock was having none of it today, burying his face in his phone. _Just like old times, _thought Molly.

Molly shrugged off his rudeness and rolled out Mrs. Bachman for him to view. He barely took a look at her and was about to blow back out of the morgue when Molly stopped him very simply.

"Hey, there."

He froze and then turned to her, his demeanour completely changed. His lips were pursed in an attitude of disappointed self awareness and he looked to her for forgiveness, hanging his head in an admission of guilt.

"No, no, don't apologize, you're busy, I totally understand." Molly smiled, and continued.

"I wouldn't have even stopped you, but I need your help with something."

"What is it, Molly, love?" Sherlock got in her personal space without touching her and made eye contact. She loved it when he did that, it was his brand of kiss when they were in a public place.

"It's for Thursday afternoon. I need you to – accompany me. Somewhere. And – I think you might actually like it."

"Hmm? Interesting. Molly what is it?"

"It's kind of a surprise. And you mustn't tell John."

"What?" This was different. "What secrets are we keeping from John, Molly?"

"You'll see. It's a kind of a surprise."

"What kind? Is it his birthday?"

"No. That wouldn't be a surprise." Molly smiled into Sherlock's somewhat confused face.

"That's – perfectly true. Interesting. What's going on?"

"It's a surprise for you, too, but, I really must have someone with me, I think. Because, well, I don't think John would – approve."

"Ahh. Naughty Molly, you have my full attention. What do you want me to do?"

Molly had been pretty sure that telling Sherlock about John's probably disapproval of her surprise would hook the detective, and she was right. She tried to keep her smugness in victory to a small smile.

"Just pick me up here after my shift at one pm on Thursday. Don't be late, and be ready for it to go for at least three hours, maybe more. Then we come home and show John."

"Wait, is this a tattoo, Molly, or a piercing? Because then you wouldn't have my approval, either. You'd be stuck with an almost certainly silly, if not to say inexpert image in your skin for life, and though a piercing will heal over, they can heal in odd ways, it's really nothing you want to do."

"Oh, thanks, _Dad_. No, it's not a tattoo or a piercing. It's much more intimate, and not at all permanent, but you are on the right track."

Sherlock was taken aback at being called 'Dad,' and had to pause before getting back into the game with this new side of Molly he'd encountered.

"Hmm, I believe that's what's known as 'sass.' It suits you. All right. Thursday at one I'll come here for you, but I'll see you both tonight, won't I?"

"Yes, of course, we'll be round at the usual time. 'Til then."

A lab tech came in the door, and Molly and Sherlock were prevented from the brief kiss they would have shared had they been alone. Instead Sherlock leaned to Molly's ear and whispered.

"Body painting, hmm, Molly? _Full_ body? That is daring. I look forward." And he was gone with a flick of the hem of his coat.

)))))))

On Thursday at one on the dot, Sherlock and Molly hailed a cab outside Bart's and Molly gave an alarming sounding address in Hackney. The cab deposited them in a dire section in front of a house that seemed to be the twin of every other house in the street. The pair made their way through the gate, and up the steps where Molly rang. A small woman in paint spattered clothing answered and after Molly shouted 'painting!' and the woman shouted 'painting?' back at her several times back and forth, they were conducted to the front room of the house, and directed to sit. There was a sofa and a chair a fairly well stained carpet of pale blue and two daubs of various landscapes of farmland. The woman started shouting something in Punjabi, Sherlock noted, as she walked to the back of the house where the kitchen would be.

"I wonder where they do it?" Molly asked.

Sherlock was quiet, getting impatient with interest. But they'd only waited a moment when a small man in his thirties, about the same height as the small elderly woman, entered the room. He was similarly attired in paint spattered clothing with paint in his hair and on his face as well.

"Car out here, car, now, ok?" The man gestured frantically at the door.

"Car? But where to? Why didn't you give me the address in the first place?"

"No painting here. Painting in studio. We go studio now, ok?"

"I don't know, now a _car_ somewhere totally unknown. Maybe –" Molly looked to Sherlock for guidance.

"It's completely up to you, Molly, but I think it's harmless enough. They might not want their customers put out with an out of the way address. They are quite spattered with paint. If you had been alone, it would be a different matter, naturally. For myself, my interest is still quite – engaged. What do you think?"

He was leaving it up to her. Letting her get them into this mess or give it up. Well, she thought there was no way she'd give him the satisfaction of giving up. She looked at the small paint spattered man.

"What's your name, friend?"

"Name is Harrylikeharrypotter." He said the name and his explanation so quickly it sounded like one word.

"You come now, ok? Artist waiting."

Harrylikeharrypotter looked at his client's faces, and looked at his clothes.

"Yes, I am artist, but not your artist. Your artist at studio waiting now."

"Ok, Harry like Harry Potter, let's go," Molly stood and decisively followed their guide, and Sherlock followed her.

Sherlock and Molly were conducted to a Ford Fiesta of an earlier rather than a later year, and Molly climbed into the back. Sherlock leaned in close to her and whispered.

"I'm getting in front just to – you know keep an eye on things, ok?"

Molly nodded, and Sherlock quickly reached to brush her cheek with his fingers in reassurance then strode around the car to sit in front with Harrylikeharrypotter and they were off.

It was about a thirty minute drive to an industrial looking area before Molly directed a question to Sherlock.

"Do you know where we are?"

Sherlock gave her a smile that seemed to say 'Have you forgotten with whom you are speaking?' But Harrylikeharrypotter addressed her question aloud.

"Oh, yes, Miss. I know where we _are_ and where we _go_ and how to get back _again_! Almost there, now, you wait and see."

"Ok. Good. Thank you Harry, that's good."

It was soon afterward that Harrylikeharrypotter pulled up to a quite abandoned looking warehouse and parked. The three got out and their guide directed them to an actual hole in the wall through which they walked, stepping over bricks and mortar. Molly looked at Sherlock who grinned broadly, and then shrugged his shoulders. _Well, at least someone is enjoying this_, thought Molly.

Harrylikeharrypotter led them to a bare metal staircase, and they all three marched up the stairs to a second floor. Their driver opened a door, and led them into a large room that could only be described as an artist's studio, and which seemed to be heated, Molly thought with much relief.

Easels, tarps, large door-and-saw-horse tables crammed with pots of paint and brushes, and other tools were littered throughout the place. It had clearly been in use for a long time. And the canvases dotting the walls went from enormous to smaller all of wildlife, and tropical trees, tropical flowers, plants and animals. There seemed to be quite a few exotic animals like the big cats, giraffes and zebras. Even the plant life depictions seemed to speak of a fondness for pattern. There was a playfulness to the way the artist had dealt with the pattern, Sherlock thought, that was not at all usual and spoke to an intelligence and a sense of humor.

Harrylikeharrypotter shouted something to the room at large in Punjabi, then he waved his arms and addressed Sherlock and Molly as he hurriedly left the room.

"Drive you back later. Go now for privacy, ok! Bye-bye! For privacy! Later! Later.!" And he was gone.

Sherlock and Molly looked again into the large room, and noticed another rather small person, rise up out of what seemed to be a pile of rags and turn to them. He was dressed almost identically to Harrylikeharrypotter and the woman who had answered the door at the house. He approached them with a smile and open palms.

"Painting today! No English! Much Paint! Paint! Paint! Paint?" He pointed at Sherlock who smiled and said something in Punjabi, pointing to Molly. This prompted the man to spew out a long speech which he accompanied with wildly different facial expressions and hand gestures. There were clearly several questions involved to which Sherlock was either not able to respond, or didn't have the time to respond, the painter was speaking so quickly. Molly had no idea what was going on, but thank god for Sherlock who seemed to have somewhat of a grasp of the situation. He seemed to be able to convince the man to slow his speech down, and between the two of them they were able to get to the first step. After a couple false starts, Sherlock and the painter seemed to come to an understanding, and they repeated to one another a phrase in Punjabi, and then in English.

"Pick paint!" the painter said to Molly, and Sherlock explained.

"There are some pictures for you to look at, Molly," Sherlock took Molly's hand and led her as they followed behind the painter who led them to a table with some large notebooks.

"What are you looking for, love? Animals?"

"I thought a big cat. Spots, you know?"

Sherlock smiled and said something to the painter who handed a book to him.

Molly and Sherlock opened the book to photographs of women and men completely nude with the patterns of the big cats painted on them, a couple with zebra patterns and one with giraffe spots.

"I like this one and this one," Molly picked two cats, one, a leopard she particularly liked.

"I like this one the best. What do you think?"

"It's good. Probably the best one, I agree." Sherlock licked his lips thinking about the next steps.

"Good! Good! Paint! Paint! Paint!" He gestured to another area of the studio, and Sherlock and Molly followed him to where a large tarp was laid out on the floor. It was spattered all over with dried paint patterns and didn't look like it had been laundered either recently or at all.

The painter gestured to Molly, and then to the tarp, waving his hands over the surface of the tarp. Molly looked to Sherlock.

"Time to get painted, Molly. He wants you to take off your clothes and lie down, face down. He's going to paint your back first.

"Yes, paint! Paint! Paint!" The painter looked from Molly to Sherlock and back again, perhaps perceiving hesitation on Molly's part.

"Wife privacy? Wife privacy?" The painter asked her, his face confused but attentive.

"Only painter," the painter said, gesturing to himself, "No bad, only good!"

"No, no, it's fine," said Molly, and she began to disrobe, putting her things on a chair. Sherlock watched her take off her clothes. What daring, he thought. What on earth made her think of this? And how delightful of her to include him in her mad errand. No, Sherlock was fairly sure that when John heard of all this he would certainly _not_ approve in the least. _But then it will be too late._ Sherlock smiled. He watched as she hesitated over her pants, but she finally whisked them off, and stepped onto the tarp. She knelt on it, and then looked to her friend.

"This way?" she asked, and Sherlock said something to the painter in his language and was rewarded with excited speech and vigorous nodding.

"Yes, that's fine, now lie down and apparently you can put your head to one side he's doing your back only first. And you must put your arms out in a sort of spread eagle position. Yes, he likes that. Oh, and he wants you to spread your legs as well, Molly. Yes, like that. Oh, god, Molly, you are so lovely."

Molly smiled in Sherlock's direction, but he wandered out of her line of view.

"Don't worry, I'm here," he said, realizing she couldn't see him. He exchanged a few words with the painter, and Molly found Sherlock sitting on the tarp next to her head.

"He says I can sit near you and talk to you," said Sherlock, and he put his hand on her neck and rubbed her gently.

"He's getting some items from the table, getting ready. All right?"

"Mmm, yes. Thank god for you, what would I have done without you?"

"Well, I hope you would have had the sense to leave the house when Harrylikeharrypotter offered to drive you somewhere."

"Mmm, yes, I think I certainly would have."

"What will you wear afterward? You've brought something?"

"Yes, in my bag, it's very loose."

The painter returned to the tarp, shouting amiably, apparently explaining something.

"He says there's a base coat, and I have to get up, all right. I'll stay where you can see me." Sherlock got up from where he was sitting.

The painter applied a basecoat to Molly's back with a kind of spray can. It was a speedy operation, and she could feel the skin on her back and the backs of her arms and legs begin to tighten as the paint dried. Then she felt the painter apply the first brush strokes as he quickly applied the first color of the spots to her neck and shoulders.

He worked quickly, humming something to himself, and Sherlock and he exchanged several sentences. Sherlock would explain things from time to time, but mostly the conversation was only between Sherlock and the artist. Molly was fine with that, her head was abuzz with the sensations of lying naked on a filthy tarp, with a man she didn't know, nor could she communicate with as he painted spots on her body. It seemed to go incredibly quickly, she thought, he'd finished the first color of the spots, and was now going in with the second color. With each layer of paint she felt the skin on her body relax and then tighten again as the paint dried.

Eventually the artist finished her except for her backside. There was a pause in the work as he conferred with Sherlock and after a couple exchanges, Sherlock addressed Molly.

"How's it going, Molly, love? Still with us?"

"Oh, yes, but what goes on, something wrong with my bum?"

"Haha, no, here's the thing. He wants to – He needs to paint inside, that is, ah - between your cheeks, yes? And he's asking me to, um, hold you open, while he does that. Will that be all right?"

"_What?_" She said, but then she quickly pushed aside her hesitation. "Fine, that's fine, Sherlock, go ahead," and she clenched her jaw, and squeezed her eyes shut, but Sherlock saw her and knelt to her face.

"Hey, it's all right," He stroked her face with his finger tips, and leaned in kissing her ear and cheek.

"I know, I'm fine, go ahead, Sherlock, honestly."

"Ok." Sherlock retreated to the universe that existed behind her. Molly felt a hand stroke her backside one, two three times, then gently, with two hands, Sherlock pulled her cheeks apart and held her open and exposed.

Molly felt her face flush hot and furiously red as the artist applied the basecoat and her skin began to tighten. The painter said a few things to Sherlock, and Sherlock responded as he worked, the same as before. Finally, the base coat was dry enough for the painter to go in with the first color of the spots, and as he had before, he worked quickly, using the same strokes, she could tell, that he had used on the rest of her back. At last, the second color of the spots had been applied, but was surely still wet, and Sherlock was still holding her cheeks apart, and her face was still flaming despite the drafty studio.

"Oh, I see. Molly, he's showing me a hair dryer, and I think he means that if we dry you there, it will dry faster, and I can, we can – you know, I can let go. Will that be all right?"

Molly swallowed hard. _Anything to get this part over with._

"Yes, yes, do it," was all Molly could manage. She heard Sherlock direct a few words at the painter, and the whir of a hair dryer was heard, and then the warm air was directed right between her cheeks, tightening her newly painted skin there degree by degree. Molly squeezed her eyes tightly closed at the shame of it and the _pleasure_ of it coursed through her.

She felt Sherlock dab a finger, then two at the newly painted area.

"All done," he said, and gently let go of her. "Doing ok?"

"Yes, I'm fine." Molly swallowed. "Thank you," she added.

_Oh god she is delightful she is so beautiful just looking at her like this is going to kill me I want to say something to her something that will make her wet but I mustn't because she'll only be embarrassed when our friend has to paint the front of her with her sex dripping wet, but she's probably already wet surely I don't know if I can wait until tonight this is just too much –_

The artist painted the rest of Molly's back side, now and soon her back was completely finished and Sherlock and the artist conferred again.

"Molly it looks just incredible, just brilliant. It's better than the picture. He's letting you dry a little then we're – oh, we're moving to a standing position? Just relax a moment, all right?" Sherlock and the painter exchanged phrases and walked a little way away from her down the length of the studio.

Molly tried to relax as she lay there. This had to be the absolutely most erotic thing that had ever happened to her. But she was worried about the next step in the process. It was one thing to lie here and have her back painted, with her head turned, pretending the artist wasn't there, but how would she cope with her humiliation when she had to turn over and face him, as he painted her breasts, and between her legs, she wondered? Well, she would have to manage, no sense in leaving it half done.

And then Sherlock returned to her.

"Ok, Molly, um, a little unusual, but I see the elegance of the solution. In a moment you'll stand up, and walk down the room a bit to where there's a sort of frame where you can stretch your arms out. You can't lie on your back because the paint needs a chance to cure up a bit. You'll be standing in a spread eagle position while he paints your front. There are loops for you to rest your arms in. You won't have to hold them up. But you will have to stay standing. Might be a little athletic, and I suppose there will be an extra degree or two of you know, exposure to deal with. That's what I can glean from what I see, and what he's telling me, ok?"

"Ok. Tell me when."

She heard the two men exchange a couple of words.

"Now is fine, he says. Ok, slowly, and I'm right here. Your hair is perfect for this, by the way, nice tight bun. And you are magnificently beautiful, if I didn't mention any time lately."

Molly got up, and Sherlock held her hand as she rose and stretched a little. She looked at the backs of her arms, the only part of the painting she could see and marvelled at the beauty of it. The spots were carefully sized for the part of the body that they enhanced, and she was sure that the artist had paid careful attention to other parts of her body in the same way.

Molly let Sherlock lead her to a wooden frame where Sherlock demonstrated how she was to stand. He pushed his hands into some rope loops, and spread his legs. The artist nodded his approval vigorously, speaking enthusiastically, pointing at Sherlock, then pointing and gesturing at Molly.

Sherlock and Molly smiled at one another as Sherlock, fully clothed, took this spread eagle position. He seemed to do it with a little more alacrity and enthusiasm than was required and his smile as he looked at her seemed to communicate something. Too, he lingered in the position longer than was necessary, and Molly quietly filed away this information for future reference when planning evenings for the three of them. She would have to have a chat with John. _Well, _she thought, _it only makes sense that he'd like to be restrained in bed. We'll have to work something out. _Molly licked her lips at him as he slowly, almost reluctantly shrugged his way out of the loops, making way for her.

"You have to maintain the position because as it was while you were lying down, if he's not painting a particular spot, that spot is probably drying."

"All right," said Molly, "Now?"

"Yes, Molly, here," Sherlock took one of her wrists and looped it in one of the holds, and as he did so whispered into her ear.

"You are so beautiful, I don't know how I'm going to keep from taking you in the cab on the way back, or here for that matter, or in the car with Harrylikeharrypotter, you are driving me so mad."

Sherlock placed her other wrist in the opposite loop hold, and whispered in her other ear.

"By the way, if it's any consolation, I know you're a little exposed, but I've had a full and painful erection since you lay down on that filthy tarp with such abandon about an hour ago." Sherlock stepped away to look at her. Molly thought he looked a little faint, and his breath was certainly shortened and quickened while he gazed at her. His trousers certainly looked quite uncomfortable.

Molly tried to remain loose as the artist approached her, talking away in his language, speaking to her as if she knew what the fuck he was saying to her at all.

"He says to try to relax and enjoy the view. Also he says that he is a good artist and a good man. No bad. Only good." Sherlock smiled.

Molly took a deep breath as the artist turned away to get something. She realized that she was completely spread eagled in front of a plate glass window only on the second floor of an abandoned warehouse. The window looked out onto what was left of a car park where there were three or four cars actually parked at the moment, one of which belonged to Harrylikeharrypotter. And there he was, their friend and guide, looking up at the window with the aide of a pair of binoculars.

Molly laughed a little and Sherlock stepped over to the window to see what she was looking at.

"Mmm. That's not the rules." Sherlock stepped in front of Molly to shield her, and when the artist came back, Sherlock directed his attention to the car park.

The artist went wild spewing all kinds of what must have been invective with force and venom, and then suddenly ran around a couple of tables of paint and was gone from the room, leaving Molly and Sherlock alone. The moment he was gone, Sherlock turned to her, grasping her wrists in the rope loops, and kissed her mouth deeply, bending her head back with the strength of his own as he let his tongue plunge deeply into her mouth, exploring her teeth, stroking her tongue. She answered his kiss with as much strength as she could muster, careful not to put any of the painting in jeopardy.

"You should see the work he's done on you, it's breathtaking, your arse is breathtaking. I think I will have to have it someday very soon, Molly I swear I will."

"Whenever you like, darling, it's yours. Oh. look." Sherlock turned around to the window and into the car park. Molly and her friend watched the artist confront Harrylikeharrypotter. He snatched the binoculars from him, but continued to admonish him. Hang dog and defeated, their driver got back into his car, and shut the door. After a few more arm flailings and hurled invectives at the driver's side of the car, the artist left the car park, and walked toward the building again.

Sherlock gripped Molly again as before and stole another almost brutal kiss from her, then released her wrists, stepping away with a moan.

"Now I'm dripping wet." Molly hissed.

"Well," said Sherlock, "I'm sure you are. I also have a bit of a problem. Sorry. Um – Molly I have to-."

The artist re-entered with a long spiel in Punjabi, and Sherlock waved his hand dismissively as though no great harm had been done. But the artist went on at some length and Sherlock had to wait for a bit before he could ask a question. When the painter understood Sherlock's needs, he gesticulated in detail and with much gusto toward the door with many flourishes of his paint brush. Sherlock nodded, then approached Molly.

"Look, I'm sorry, but I must to go to the loo-."

"_What? _You're _leaving_ me _alone_ with him?" Molly pulled her arms out of the loops and crossed her arms across her stomach.

"Molly, he's harmless, and he's just proven he's ready to fight for your honor, yes? I swear to god it won't take long. I would do it _right_ _here_, but it wouldn't be quite seemly, would it?"

"It sounded like the loo was a long way away."

Sherlock closed the short distance between them and spoke extremely urgently to her.

"I'm not _going_ to the fucking _loo_, I'm going two steps around the corner at the end of the hall and using my _han_dkerchief. Scream and I'll hear you, all right? Please? I don't want anything to happen spon_tan_eously - I'm not at all – ah – _effective_ this way."

"All right, all right." Molly watched him as he fairly trotted out of the studio into the hall way. She turned her attention to the other man in the room. The artist had his head down, working with his brushes, and preparing a new can of spray paint for the front of her. He worked carefully but he also had a broad smile on his face. Had he intuited Sherlock's problem? Molly surmised that he had. She continued to regard him as he turned from the work table and approached Molly. He picked up a little stool from it's position before another easel with another canvas on it, and stood before his current canvas.

This was the moment she had dreaded, eye contact, but she lifted her face to meet his gaze, and looked in his eyes as gently and with as little fear as she could manage. The painter's eyes were filled with an intelligence, gentleness and humour she hadn't registered before she'd laid down on the tarp some two hours ago. She saw that he had been quite an attractive man in his youth, and registered his sexuality and his very obvious sexual appreciation of her at once. The female body is a traitor, she thought. She could feel herself getting wet again, she could feel her nipples hardening and tightening, she felt the familiar flip flop in her lower abdomen all in response to this man before her.

The artist stepped within touching distance of her and smiled wickedly into her face.

"Very bootifool vooman," He pronounced carefully and then slowly looked her up and down, taking in ever bit of her slowly. Then, without so much as a brush stroke, he stepped away, and sat on the stool.

"Paint! Paint! Paint!" He clapped his hands. He smiled at her. "No English! Much Paint!" The artist looked toward the door of the studio, and shrugged. He clearly was waiting for Sherlock to come back before he recommenced painting her, she thought with great relief. And here he was, Sherlock Holmes, striding into the studio looking much less irritated.

"Good! Paint! Much paint!" And the artist started on Molly's basecoat.

Once Sherlock was in the room, the artist abandoned any further eye contact with Molly. He didn't seem at all guilty, however or furtive about having looked at her or having spoken to her while Sherlock was out of the room. Rather, he was now completely engaged in his work, an occupation which he seemed to heartily enjoy and which he executed with precision.

As the painter applied the basecoat to her breasts, He asked Sherlock to hold her breasts up while he painted and air dried her underneath. This was a little embarrassing, Molly thought, _surely my breasts are only slightly pendulous_. But Sherlock soothed her even through his wicked smile. When the painter got to her sex, there was an exchange between the two men.

"Molly," Sherlock explained, "Can you open your legs wider – for the artist?"

Molly complied, stretching her legs apart as far as she could, and the artist voiced his approval. He was sitting on his low stool, gazing up at her sex with a very analytical expression, however, as she stood with her arms and legs completely spread. She was deeply mortified and felt her face flush with heat again.

"Wha- what's the problem?" She managed to ask .

The two men conferred in Punjabi. Sherlock nodded seriously, and the artist put down his spray can and walked to another work table. Sherlock followed him when the artist beckoned him, and handed him something. Then the artist left the studio.

Sherlock came back to her, grinning and holding loo roll.

"It seems as though you're too wet to paint, my darling, lovely girl."

Sherlock kissed her on the mouth briefly and more gently this time.

"Here, take your hands out of the – yes, here take this and dry yourself a bit, hmm? I would do it for you, but that would lead to another trip to the _loo_."

Molly complied, bending her knees, turning a little away from Sherlock as she pressed the apparently clean paper between her lips, wiping herself there. There was a lot of moisture and she used several pieces of paper. Finally she bunched it all up, and wrapped the lot into another clean sheet, wadded it up and placed the wad of paper on the floor. She looked at Sherlock. He took her in and it took every bit of will power not to gather her in his arms.

"I want to have you right here, right here on the floor, or- against this wall, oh for god's _sake_, look what you've reduced me to!" Sherlock rubbed his face with the palms of his hands.

It was strange to realize the power she had over this man at this moment in time. And even the painter, though she suspected she had much less hold over him. And let's not forget Harrylikeharrypotter and his binoculars. And it was all sex. She had denied these things all her young life, at uni, at her first jobs, and was only now beginning to understand the powers that any woman had in this regard.

"Honestly, Molly, after Harrylikeharrypotter takes us back to Hackney, and we're in a cab, I can't be responsible for what I do."

"You'll have to be, Sherlock. You're my protector. No touching. Until later."

"Oh _god_. Yes of course," Sherlock was still looking at her, but he seemed to be very befuddled.

"Just try to breathe normally. Can you find a more comfortable position? Is there a chair for you?"

Sherlock smiled and shrugged. And then the artist was back in the room. Molly replaced her wrists into the rope loops. The artist resumed his position on the stool, looking up into the apex of her legs, and then smiled, and nodded.

"Good, good! Paint! Paint! Paint!"

He aimed the paint spray apparatus up at her sex from below and gently sprayed the paint onto her skin. It went on cool, and then her body heat warmed it. He sprayed the paint up through her hair along her cleft and then outward, covering the whole area. Then he went back deep between her legs, and sprayed all the little areas that were missed, assuring an even coat, until he was satisfied. She felt the paint begin to dry, tightening her, tightening her, and she could feel herself getting wet all over again. She said nothing.

The artist set to work on her spots. He did her legs and arms first, then her front. He was completely professional and never lingered on her breasts or her sex, but paid careful attention to what he was doing at all times. The first color of the spots were finished, and then he went back to put the second color in. Then he sprayed a layer of white down her middle from the middle of her chest to below her navel, her white under belly. She liked it, it added dimension, and when it was finished with it, and the artist walked away again for some tool or other, Molly rolled her shoulders, and worked her spine a little, working out the tension she'd developed from standing still for so long.

"You're beginning to look the part. More and more. Molly, honestly words fail me."

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and opened them. His erection wasn't yet fully hard, but it was coming on again. _What will I do this time?_ he wondered. _Have another desperate wank in the hallway? How humiliating. Propriety forbids. Almost finished,surely_. He would wait.

The artist brought a group of small brushes, and a small dish of paint with him to stand close to Molly. He pulled the little stool close to her and stood on it. Without making eye contact, the artist looked at her face. _How does he do that?_ She wondered. The woman in the picture she had selected had had very little paint on her face, just a suggestion of dots, and a light cat-like effect on the nose and mouth. _Not much longer, now,_ she supposed, and she was right.

The painter seemed to wave his paintbrush over her face like a magic wand and was done.

"Finish! Finish! Finish! Good! Picture? Take photo, please?"

Molly was a little alarmed, but Sherlock waved her off, as he talked to the painter. The painter nodded vigorously as Sherlock gestured to his face and spoke one or to Punjabi phrases. He walked off to another part of the studio, and Sherlock approached Molly.

"You are magnificent," Sherlock said, cradling the back of her head, the only part of her he couldn't spoil the paint job of. "He's got a mask you can wear. Will that be all right for just a couple of photographs? And there's a full length mirror in the same area he keeps the photo props and camera, come on." He took her hand, and they followed the artist.

Separated from the rest of the studio by an enormous central support structure was a room that seemed almost a normal sitting room. There was a sofa, and a couple of chairs. And here was a full length mirror. Molly dropped Sherlock's hand and approached it.

"Oh my god," she breathed as she took in the painter's work. She turned around, trying to get a view of the back of her. She tried a couple poses, avoiding the clichéd hissing cat with raised claw. She raised her arms above her head. She crouched. She made to sit down, but stopped herself, worrying about the paint.

"Can I sit? I just want to be able to-."

"Of course, let me ask," and now the artist was in the room, too, saying something in his language as he struggled with the camera. Sherlock got involved with discussion about the camera, and Molly was alone at the glass.

It was astonishing to her the transformation she'd achieved. It was also astonishing where the eye travelled with this paint job. While she was by no means transformed into any kind of cat, the eye did not travel to her breasts or the sex automatically as they would if she were merely naked and unpainted. The spots and her face were what commanded attention. The sex was almost completely obscured by the spots the artist had painted on it and near it. The same could be said of her breasts. Sherlock returned to her side with the camera.

"Ok. You can sit, but be careful not to _rub_ against anything excessively." Sherlock smiled and shook his head, perhaps trying to clear it, Molly thought.

"The front still needs to cure up a bit, so you need to avoid too much bending and so forth. When you're ready to put on clothes, he has some material to give you to place between your skin and the fabric. When it's all dried and cured, in an hour or so, it should last a couple of days with excellent care. But if there's ah – any activity, it's a different matter. Now, a couple poses, hmm? Here you can put this on, is this sufficient?"

Sherlock handed Molly a mask that obscured her face adequately, and then was ready to have a bit of fun with the camera, but the artist had to take the camera away from him after a couple shots. Apparently a paucity of Polaroid film was at issue.

"Well," said Sherlock, "Perhaps we'll take some pictures when we get you home. Ready? Let's see what you brought to wear."

The pathologist, detective and painter walked back to the area of the studio where Molly had left her bag. She pulled out a billowing hooded cloak of thick dark cotton, which would only rest on her shoulders and not bind her anywhere else.

"Molly will you be warm enough?" Sherlock smiled.

"Hmm. One day in my life."

"No, at least two. John _must_ experience this to believe it."

The artist came up to Molly with some sheets of what seemed to be waxed paper, and placed one on her shoulder. She saw that they were connected with string, and she was able to don the paper as she might wear a shrug. Sherlock set the cloak on her shoulders and tied it in place.

"Molly, it's - when you walk, it will open, and -."

"And my spots will show." Molly touched Sherlock's cheek, turned to the artist, extending her hand. "Thank you very much you've done a beautiful, beautiful job. It's very beautiful." She made sure she repeated the word several times, knowing that it was one of the words he knew. He didn't repeat his lecherous look of earlier, but took her hand, and she permitted him to kiss it. Molly took out her wallet.

"How much do I owe you?" she asked, though she knew the general amount and had the cash with her.

The artist shook his head, saying something and gesturing to Sherlock.

"I paid him, Molly."

"You? But when?"

"When you were naked, face down on that filthy tarp."

"Here, let me pay you back."

Sherlock laughed, and gathered her in his arms.

"You must be joking. Molly, stop it. It's done, and I've loved every minute. Thank you so much for bringing me." Sherlock exchanged a couple phrases with the artist, and shook his hand, and he and Molly were off.

Harrylikeharrypotter opened the back door for Molly, who got in, and Sherlock got into the front again. Their driver was much subdued compared to his state when he'd driven them to the studio, and the drive seemed to take ages. When they returned to Hackney, he did them the courtesy of dropping them at the tube station, nearer to the high street, where they were more easily able to catch a cab and Sherlock flagged one down almost immediately.

"Shall we take the tube, Sherlock?"

"Molly, for Christ's sake. No, absolutely not. Get in."

In the back of the cab, Sherlock took Molly's face in his hands, and gently tested the paint there.

"It's largely non-toxic with some trace elements of lead in the reds, but for the amount of time you'll have it on, there's only very limited danger from the exposure. What I'm concerned about is the lack of oxygen. Are you having any symptoms? Any dizziness, diaphoresis, nausea?"

Molly looked at him and licked her lips. She said nothing. Sherlock reached his hand inside her cloak to where her painted naked body ached for his touch.

"It seems to be dry. Let me see."

Without speaking, Molly opened her cloak exposing herself completely. She lay back on the seat, wondering if the cabbie were a prude, but there was only silence from the front of the car. She bent a knee up, and let her knee drop, opening herself up to Sherlock's view. She took Sherlock's hand and guided him to touch her stomach, which he did, gingerly, pressing, checking the paint for cracks, or rub marks.

"I must say he did an impressive job. You found a real artist, darling."

Molly rocked her hips a little, encouraging him to touch her some more, and he did, stroking her thigh. He found that the paint had a velvety quality to it, and that if he stroked her skin, the paint didn't seem to suffer, and also felt quite velvety. He found himself absently stroking the inside of her thigh, going higher and higher. He gently ran his finger tips over her sex, lightly, lightly circling her hair, tracing patterns back and forth around the whole area, gently pulling her dark curls now coloured with spots, as Molly rocked her hips. But he was too wary of damaging the paint in anyway before John could see her, and he held back from exploring any further. When he withdrew his hand, Molly let out a gruff vocalization of disappointment and disgust.

"You'll have to be patient and wait for John, love. It won't be long. Oh, Molly, if I can wait, you must wait, too."

Molly gruffed again, and drew the cloak around her. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and chuckled.

"Not talking? Getting into character?. You are – Molly you are simply magnificent. Are you cold, darling? Let me hold you, hmm?" Sherlock held out an arm to her, but she only glared at him, then directed her gaze out the window. Molly heard Sherlock chuckle to himself, and sigh heavily, probably in some kind of sexual frustration and she smiled. Then she looked out the window and could see herself and her paint job. She looked into her own eyes and tried to effect an alert, but innocent cat like regard. She knew Sherlock was watching her as she did this, but she didn't care. She practiced her cat looks in the reflection of the window as the cab sped toward Baker Street and John at last.

**There you have it, part the first. Part II is done, I'm just revising and editing it. I don't know if there will be a Part III. Possibly not. **

**I would love to hear from you, if you like what you've read. **

**Let me know if you have any ideas of how you'd like things to go next! **

**I can't promise anything, but I'd love to hear. **

**Thanks so much, reviewers, favers and followers! **

**I wouldn't be doing this any more if it hadn't been for you! **


	18. Full Body Paint - II - Home to John

**The continuation – John gets to see the paint.**

**(I do not own BBC Sherlock, or any of that there)**

* * *

**Full Body Paint II - Home to John**

The cab neared Baker Street, but Sherlock stopped the cab in a street lined with shops.

"Stay in the car, Molly, I won't be a minute." He instructed the cabbie to keep the meter running as he popped out of the car.

Molly watched him trot into a pet shop and thought _oh, props. I wonder what? _She didn't have to wait long before her friend bounded back out of the shop, and the cab was on its way again. Sherlock showed her a long leather dog's lead and two collars. One was fairly simple leather, and the other was pink with rhinestones. Molly tried them both on and they agreed together that the rhinestones were the way to go. Sherlock thought the collar provided an interesting contrast, but wasn't too overwhelming. She left the pink collar on, and Sherlock stowed the lead and other collar in his pockets.

In the flat, Sherlock took her in his arms as gently as he could, then took her face in his hands. He breathed hot and wet against her face, wanting so badly to kiss her, but feeling bound to Molly's conception of the whole endeavour as a surprise for John first. Instead of kissing her, he ran his fingers over her face, and smiled tightly, his erection pressing against her. He pushed the hood down off her head, and released the cloak from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. He ripped off the protective paper liner, and Molly was naked before him except for the pink rhinestone collar.

Molly smiled and licked her lips. The paint didn't seem to be affected by this, Sherlock noted. But he wouldn't take the chance of wrecking any of her body paint before John's arrival. Molly licked her lips again, then stuck her tongue out at Sherlock, as far as it would go, holding her tongue out at him, her mouth open. The effect of such a primal gesture was potentially a little frightening and shocking, but Sherlock smiled. Carefully, Sherlock sucked her tongue into his mouth, being careful not to touch her lips. After biting her gently, and sucking her tongue for some time, he let her go with a low growl of disappointment and frustration. Molly's eyes shone, and she said nothing. Then she heard a click, and saw that Sherlock had fastened the leash to her collar.

Sherlock watched Molly's eyes flash, and he grinned at her. She pulled the lead with her neck and Sherlock hissed.

"Careful, Molly, darling, don't garrotte yourself, for god's sake, before he even gets here. Take it easy." Her reached to her neck, holding her gently, but she pulled away and pulled on the lead again, never touching the lead with her hands, only yanking with her neck. Then with a smile, she slipped out of Sherlock's arms, and took the lead to the end, watching as Sherlock let out the slack of it, but held tightly to the hand hold at the end.

Molly turned away from Sherlock, and began to meander about the flat, somewhat successfully adopting the manoeuvres a cat might make. Sherlock followed her, giving her plenty of lead on the leash. She went under a table, and around furniture, compelling him to untangle the lead a number of times. Finally they both dissolved into laughter.

Sherlock sat in his chair, and Molly stood before him for a moment and then lay on the floor before him. She let her legs fall open for him, and she just stared at him. He gazed at her for some time, watching as her labia parted slightly, and her pinker folds began to reveal themselves. He saw that she was pulsing her inner muscles and pushing, forcing herself without touching herself to open more fully.

"You're teasing me. You know I won't touch you before John comes. Interesting. I rather like it. Go on."

Molly stopped and sat up, and Sherlock smiled.

"I'll start a fire."

Once he had a couple logs catching on, he fetched a duvet and some pillows from the bedroom and made up a bed by the grate. He moved his chair closer to the nest of duvet and pillows. And took up Molly's lead again. Molly took her place on the floor on the duvet, and Sherlock held the leash. They silently agreed that this would be the pose they'd hold for John's arrival.

"He should be here soon, yes? It's almost 5 o'clock," Sherlock smiled at Molly who beamed at him as she wriggled in her nest. _Still teasing, still testing. Still keeping silent. She's a pagan adventurous._ He thought.

"I should say, before he gets here, darling, I've loved today, thank you for including me." Sherlock reached his hand to her face, stroking her cheek. "And I don't mean – the obvious - but spending the day with you on your project was - something I'll never forget."

Molly leaned a little away from him and stuck her tongue out again, opening her legs to Sherlock's view, inviting him, begging him.

"Ah, ah. Oh, god, you're lovely. But, we'd better wait for John, hmmm?" He regarded her. "But do feel free to tease me some more, it's absolutely enchanting."

Molly hopped to her feet and stood to the side of Sherlock's chair, her sex at his eye level, only inches away. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Paint was all he could scent, however. It was still fresh enough to overpower her own natural perfumes. He smiled up at her, and reached out to stroke her, running his fingers through her dark curls, stroking her hip.

"I can tease you back, you know. You must be aching for me to touch you, Hmm? Press into you?"

He stroked her between the legs, only lightly caressing the outside of her cleft. She tried to press herself against his fingers, tried to force him to penetrate her, but he lifted his hand away.

"Oh, I could put my mouth on you, shall, I darling?"

He leaned to her sex and breathed on her, blowing on her, then actually running his closed lips and cheek against her skin and hair. He leaned away again, smiling into her face, as soon as she tried to press herself harder against him.

"Or I could grab you, push you over a chair and have you right here."

Molly knelt on her duvet, her head down, wagging her backside at him, opening her legs wider, pulsing her hips back toward him.

"Mmm, lovely. Very lovely. I can hardly wait."

Molly humphed and settled into her nest by the fire, pulling fretfully at her collar with her neck, with a bit too much play acting, Sherlock thought.

"Five o'clock" Sherlock frowned, looking at the clock. "He's usually very prompt."

Exactly on cue, the door downstairs opened, and John's familiar step on the stair was heard by them both. They assumed their poses, and Sherlock dangled the end of the lead off one finger, which was still attached to Molly's rhinestone collar. Molly lay on her side, her uppermost knee open, allowing an ample view of her front and between her legs. She moved slightly, swaying from side to side. John opened the door to the flat and came in.

"Hey, I -." John's thought was stopped dead as he took in the scene before him. He dropped his Tesco bags on the desk as he slowly approached Sherlock's chair and the nest before the fireplace, trying to make sense in his mind of what was clearly before his eyes.

Sherlock rose from his chair and put the lead in John's hand, who accepted it, but was immediately drawn back to look at Molly on the duvet.

"What have you done to my wife?" John grinned. "Molly, is it really you?"

Molly rose and walked around, keeping her eyes on John. She meandered again, a bit like a lazy cat, trying to let him see her at every angle. She raised her arms and stretched, as John approached her to touch her. She smiled, but jerked away from him before he could lay a hand on her. He shortened her lead, reaching out again, but she jerked away, and then jerked at the lead with her neck. He had no choice but to let out the lead so she couldn't pull against it, not wanting to hurt her. But she went to the end of the lead again and yanked at it with her neck, then she skittered into the darkened section of the flat with the slack that John kept providing as he followed her. Sherlock watched the game as it progressed, smiling at his friends as they discovered the rules, setting them as they went, laughing.

"Molly, what are you doing, come here, just come here a moment, will you?" John begged.

"I think she wants to be captured, John," Sherlock said.

"I don't want to ruin the paint. Molly? before I get a chance to look at it."

"Molly, darling, let him look first," Sherlock coaxed.

John was peering at her as she squatted under the desk. It was hard to register that she was wholly his wife, she looked so completely transformed, and spoke not a word and was acting the part.

"Let me look at you Molly, ok? Then we can play. We'll play whatever you like." John held out his hand, and she took it, then licked his hand, smiling. Then she crept slowly out of the desk's knee hole. She put her arms around John's neck, kissing and licking at his mouth and face. John laughed, holding the lead just at the collar, controlling her a little, but he quickly let go, concerned about snapping her neck. He could feel his erection coming on as she squirmed in his arms, pressing against him alternately affectionate, then trying to escape.

"Come into the light, love, let me look at you, Molly." John led her to the fireplace, and turned on a lamp near the fire.

"Oh my god, - it's amazing, are you? – Yes, she's completely naked, isn't she? Sherlock, did you do this?"

"No, no, a professional artist. I merely accompanied her."

"Hmm, a _third party_ did this while you watched? Jesus."

"Molly was concerned that you might not approve."

"So she asked you to go with her. Ahaha. I don't know. It's much too hot to not approve of, though, I must say. You'll have to tell me all about it, yeah? This is – god!" John leaned in looking at their wild cat.

Molly remained silent, smiling, reclining at the end of the lead. She rolled onto her back on the duvet, and John crouched beside her, reaching out to touch her again. She stretched a foot out to him, and he caught hold of her ankle, but she snatched it away and rolled on her back. She bent her knees up to her chest, then spread her legs away from her body, leaving herself completely open and exposed for John. Sherlock stood a little apart, letting John enjoy his wife.

"It's amazing." John knelt at Molly's side, stroking her carefully, caressing her thigh and then the hair between her legs.

"Astonishing. When she's just standing in front of you one's eye goes to the sort of costume, the paint, rather than the fact that she's naked. And the face, her eyes."

"Yes." Sherlock agreed. "It's a very interesting demonstration."

John manoeuvred himself between Molly's legs, which she kept spread and bent at the knee,. He leaned down carefully, and brushed her lips with his.

"What have you done for me, Molly? Molly, darling, hmm?" He thought of his clothes for only an instant and then pressed down onto her, kissing her, and stroking her breasts. He pressed and thrust against her a few times, kissing her experimentally, then checking her face to see if he'd damaged the paint around her mouth. Then he pulled up and away from her.

"Have I ruined it?" he asked, looking down, still stroking Molly's breasts, and abdomen.

"Well, it's not meant to last forever." Sherlock offered.

John was breathing harder now, looking at Molly, then looked to Sherlock who registered John's sudden heightened need and smiled.

"It doesn't really seem to be harmed at all. There's a bit of paint on your trousers, John, you should probably take them off."

John smiled and nodded, but first the two men inspected Molly's paint, John on one side of her, Sherlock on the other. Molly practically swooned from the pleasure of it as four hands smoothed over her naked body, inspecting her and she growled and purred in appreciation.

"A little here, a little rubbing off her leg, here," said Sherlock.

"Doesn't seem to be much damage at all," John marvelled, wondering how much longer he could delay his satisfaction.

"Molly, show him your back."

Molly rolled over quickly, presenting her backside high and offering it as best she could with her arms flat on the floor before her, spreading her knees wide. Sherlock explained to John how they'd had to paint Molly's skin between her buttocks, and John chuckled.

"That sounds a little humiliating, Molly? Hmm? How long did Sherlock have to hold you open? For the painter? Did you like that? Did that make you break out in a sweat, hmm? I wish I could have been there."

"You must go with her, John, you really must take her again in a couple months or so."

Molly purred as John ran his hands over her back and bottom, humming as she pressed herself against his touch. Sliding a finger down her cleft, John gently opened her to look at the paint between her cheeks and at her puckered hole which had been left unpainted. He leaned in and tenderly tongued her there, then blew on the wet spot. Molly pressed her bottom against his tongue when she felt him, but he quickly pulled away smiling. Then he traced his fingers further down her cleft.

Molly spread her legs wide, and anchored her arms low on the ground. _Please, please please put your fingers in me for gods sake, for god's sake, put your fingers in me and pump me, put something in me I can't stand it, I can't stand another moment of this, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, _she thought, but spoke not a word. She wagged her backside back and forth vigorously. John was no longer able to resist her and he gently pushed a finger inside her which elicited a loud moan from Molly. He quickly added another finger and then another and started thrusting and Molly found herself thrusting backward and as hard as she could against his hand.

"Jesus, she's so wet." John licked his lips, and moved to grip Molly by the waist to support her as he thrust harder into her.

Molly noticed that both Sherlock and John had lapsed into referring to her in the third person, totally objectifying her, which she found incredibly arousing, she couldn't help it. When John's fingers entered her and he starting pushing harder and harder, she knew that she was already very close to release, but could hardly believe the speed with which she was now reaching her plateau. She pumped hard against his hand, urgently whining and moaning, desperately seeking release from a tension that she now realized had been mounting for hours.

"John, perhaps -." Sherlock involuntarily voiced the obvious.

"No, she's too close. Come for me, Molly, sweetheart, go ahead and let it happen, come on, darling, come on, come on, that's it come on my hand, I've got you."

Growling and shrieking her release Molly continued grinding her hips against John's hand and finally collapsed onto her arms, her forehead against them. John gently held her around the waist, stroking her, murmuring her name, as he felt the tension go out of her, and then he gently lowered her hips to the side, where she reclined. She felt John stretch out beside her, and Molly opened her eyes rewarded with John's smiling face. She stroked his cheek.

Then Sherlock was rolling her hips so that she was lying on her back again. He pressed her knees against her chest.

"There's only a bit of damage to the paint here, it's amazing."

"Oh, sod, the fucking paint, Sherlock."

"Yes, of course."

Sherlock gently pulled open the painted outer folds of Molly's sex and exposed the pink glistening wet folds inside which were in stark contrast to the oranges and yellows that the artist had applied. He breathed in her fragrance.

"May I – may I taste her, John?"

"Of course, of course, I'm sure she's dying for it." said John as he smiled into Molly's eyes. John gripped her chin, watching her face and knew when Sherlock's mouth made contact with Molly's sex, when her eyes glazed over. Then she bit her lower lip and moaned with abandon, wrenching her hips around in a circle. John looked down at Sherlock who was trying to keep up with Molly's movements with some degree of success, though he lost contact with her once or twice as she bucked and thrashed against his face. John chuckled and leaned away from Molly who hardly noticed his absence.

John stripped quickly and was naked by the time Molly had had her second climax, moaning lowly, and affecting a kind of growl he'd never heard her do before. _Never too late to learn new vocabulary_, John thought smiling. Sherlock moved away from her, and John hauled Molly to her hands and knees and entered her from behind.

Molly's orgasm was still pulsing through her when she felt John's arms around her waist. _Well, _she thought, _no rest for the wicked _as he entered her swiftly, his only preamble to splay a hand at the small of her back. Then she felt him part her bottom cheeks, and run his fingers along her skin there. Then he gripped her hips and ground into her a little roughly. She groaned loudly and John chuckled, caressing her arse.

"Shhh, remember Mrs. Hudson, darling, hmm? I think she's beginning to suspect us for the deviants that we are."

Molly whined and whimpered as he started pounding into her mercilessly, not bothering to help her to her pleasure, only seeking his own and as quickly as possible. She loved it when he did this, when he abandoned the rules of etiquette and just went straight for his own completion. He was always the perfect gentleman in bed, always solicitous, putting her needs above his own. She tried to steer him away from this strict adherence with little success, so it was gratifying for her to see that he was able to let go tonight. She threw herself against him with all her force, and came again just before he did, and together they made more noise than Molly had when John had hushed her.

John released Molly, and gently laid her down onto the duvet, but she still didn't get a moment to recover before Sherlock was pulling her knees up and spreading her on her back before him. He pressed into her even faster than John had, and with as much force. But Molly was exhausted and the best she could do was put her arms around Sherlock's neck and hang on for dear life as he grabbed her bottom and fucked her into the duvet.

"That's right, just hold on, god knows it won't take very long." Sherlock smiled to himself at the long day of sexual denial he had experienced. Molly leaned up and kissed him even so, forcing his mouth open, sucking his tongue. Sherlock wondered if perhaps she wasn't as worn out as she certainly had every right to be. He ran a hand down between their bodies and placed a thumb on her clit, experimentally. She turned her face to the side, but he wouldn't be denied so easily, and pressed down with his thumb as he slowed his thrusting, circling his thumb easily, gently. Then balancing a little painfully on an elbow, he put the fingers of his other hand into her mouth. She sucked him dutifully but looked at him with questions in her eyes. Sherlock smiled and then reached around Molly's hip and plunged a wet finger into her tighter opening. When he thought she could take it, he added another. She shouted and moaned but now she was bucking and thrusting against him the way he liked her. He smiled down at her, his wild cat, as he stroked hard into her. His climax was loud and long but he couldn't keep a smile off his face as the waves of his orgasm coursed through him, and finally tapered off.

Sherlock rolled off Molly at last and looked up to see John reclining on the sofa, almost like a cat himself.

"To what do I owe this incredible – I don't know –bacchanalia?" John wondered.

"I really don't know, John, you'll have to ask Molly. She said she conceived of it as a surprise for you."

Molly smiled and rose from the duvet, stretching. A stream of ejaculate and her own moistures running half way down her thigh glimmered in the dim light. She wandered toward the kitchen, the lead still attached to her collar, dragging along the floor, making a rasping sound. She was silent.

"It's not my birthday or anything. Still mute, Molly?"

"She told me that if it had been your birthday it wouldn't be much of a surprise."

"Ahaha."

"That's what I said."

"No you didn't."

"No, of course not. I'm thoroughly exhausted. I suppose I'm just trying to be agreeable."

Molly came out of the kitchen sipping a bottle of water. She slowly re-entered the sitting room, swinging her hips. Her paint job was somewhat damaged. The spots and basecoat were a little rubbed off at her pelvis, while the paint on her breasts and chest were relatively untouched. But the damage didn't at all ruin the effect of her transformation. She faced John, then turned around and bent over, giving him a view of the cleft between her cheeks.

"Show him the cloak, Molly."

Molly's eyes lit up, and she scampered over to where the cloak had dropped. She flourished it and it settled on her shoulders. Then she walked toward John at a brisk pace, the cape fluttering about her.

"But surely it shows everything as you walk along. Did you - god, did she walk around the _city_ like that?"

Sherlock shrugged.

"Only from the studio to the car, briefly on the street in Hackney." Molly sat on the sofa next to John, drawing her legs up under her.

"In _Hackney_? Jesus. Molly? Still not talking? When will you talk to us again, hmm?"

Molly was silent, smiling down at John. John took the lead in his hand, and gripped one of her legs. He pulled her leg toward him, forcing her open again, and she splashed a bit of water on herself from her bottle. John hauled himself up to her sex, touching her again. She opened for him and reclined, smiling. _Yes, please_, she thought, _suck me off again, so I can fall straight to sleep when we go to bed._

"I can't keep my hands off her," John said, and dipped his fingers inside her again. She was dripping and full of ejaculate, but he pressed his face into her nonetheless, kissing and tonguing her. _So that's what Sherlock tastes like,_ he thought. _Now I know._ John dipped his tongue deeply in her, trying to taste what he could find there._ I really must get over my reluctance with him, he's right, it's silly. The way I've been acting with him is counter to our whole arrangement. And he's completely amazing in bed. What would he be like if we – oh my god what am I thinking?_

Molly purred and thrashed about as John found her clit and lashed his tongue at it, pumping inside her again with his fingers, gripping a hip for support. It took some time, but Molly finally came again quietly, easily without much fuss. As she reclined against the arm of the sofa, recovering, John sat up almost immediately, stretching his neck, having held himself in a rather uncomfortable position for quite a while. He looked up as he rubbed the back of his neck, and saw Sherlock smiling at him rather wickedly.

"Did she taste good, John?" he asked.

"Mmm, yes, I think I did taste you on her." John admitted, guessing his friend's meaning. He reddened slightly, wondering what other thoughts he'd had that Sherlock was able to read.

"I asked you a question, though. Did she taste good? It seemed to me, as I watched you, that she tasted good to you."

"Yes." John smiled, but looked away.

"Still shy. No, no, it's all right. It's quite charming. And I must say, I'm enjoying it more and more." Sherlock cleared his throat. "My dear John and my dear lovely Molly, it's very late." Sherlock rose with the duvet draped about him. "Come, on. Come to my bed. It's getting cold and the morning is going to be utterly exhausting."

"Ahaha." John imagined the scenes to come in the morning as they woke to find Molly still in her body paint.

"Come on, darling," John coaxed Molly up, "Beddie bye, hmm?" She took his hand, and followed him.

Sherlock led the way to his bed, and the three curled up under the duvet, with Molly in the middle.

* * *

**Not sure if there will be a Part III. You'll have to tell me if you want it, 'k?**

**Thanks, Earthlings from all over, for stopping by my pages to have a look! **

**I would love to hear from you in a PM (private message) or in a review!**

**Hope it was at least half as fun for you as it was for me – **

**For me it's a huge blast! Thanks to Gatts & Moffs (et alia at BBC Sher) for that! **

**There are at least four or five more chapters in the pipeline after this.**

**All continuing as sort of separate episodes, you know the deal.**

**Only a couple days 'til the next instalment!**


	19. Kissing John

**Something short and sweet for you to have with your afternoon coffee.**

**You deserve it. Because why? Because I love you.**

**Sherlock doesn't know about wet raspberries. John & Molly enlighten him. Mega superfluff.  
**

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**Zorbots 101  
**

_A journal on mushrooms no fascinating but no not right now not just what I need I need I need I need a paper on krill and it's impact on the Antarctic no fascinating but no not now right now I need something to utterly transport me utterly drag my mind away from this this this this madness this delicious terrible wonderful painful incredible horrible choice of where to kiss John when he comes in no permission required for gentle holding and touching no permission required for gentle holding and touching no permission required for gentle holding and touching so when he comes in tonight almost five almost five just before five any minute now when he comes in he'll let me gently hold and touch him and I can kiss him wherever I like wherever I like wherever I like wherever I like it's impossible to choose. _

Sherlock didn't like narrowing down his choices for where to kiss John upon his coming into the flat. It was too difficult. Very often he was fine at just waiting until the doctor came in the door and then he would either continue with whatever he was doing, often reading or working on an experiment, or he would have a brief conversation with his friend or they would eat something John had brought with him. He would kiss him later. Or not even until they were in bed with Molly. But once in a while he'd allow his obsessive behavior to drive him wild as to where to kiss John when he came in, and how to hold him, or what to do with him.

John had been allowing Sherlock to touch and hold him gently without asking for permission, and it was still quite a novelty for Sherlock. While he still wasn't allowed to kiss the doctor's mouth, discovering John in this way was delightful for Sherlock, and he hardly wanted things to progress, he was having so much fun with this interim arrangement. It was so sweet to put his arms around John and purr in his ear, biting his earlobe. He'd done that once or twice, and then, quickly let him go, resuming his chores in the kitchen, or picking up his abandoned research or reading. A number of times John had come home and he'd pretended not to hear him, and continued looking into the microscope for up to two hours. Then he'd walked to him, unhurriedly, and leaned over the doctor as he sat at the desk at his laptop, and bitten his neck. Or between the eyes, leaning down over him, forcing his head back. Chastely, on the cheek. Once he'd merely licked his handsome, ridiculously English nose.

It all had to do with the moment he looked at him, Sherlock realized. It had to do with John and what he was feeling, what he'd been doing, how he'd felt in the moment he'd come in the door. This is what Sherlock would react to that would make him choose. The nose had been a day when John had been particularly angry about the something in the shops. Between the eyes had been a particularly lovely smile the doctor had come up with for him, just upon entering the flat. There was no use in narrowing it down, after all, he'd have to see John come in the flat to know.

_no permission required for gentle holding and touching no permission required for gentle holding and touching no permission required for gentle holding and touching no permission required for gentle holding and touching no permission required for gentle holding and touching no permission required for gentle holding and touching_ _where the hell is he?_

The door downstairs made it's customary slam, and Sherlock heard John's step on the stair. He chucked the journal containing the paper on krill and stepped over the coffee table to stand near the door, not too close, but close enough to note the doctor's mood, feeling, aura, when he came in the flat.

_Here he comes no permission required for gentle holding and touching  
_

The door opened.

"Hey, I-." John stopped and looked at Sherlock. "Oh. You've been obsessing again. The last half hour or so, about where to kiss me, haven't you?"

Sherlock held perfectly still, flummoxed as to what to do next. _  
_

_"_H- how do you know that?"

"We _sleep_ with you, Sherlock, we know things about you, Molly and I."

"Just because we sleep -."

"Never mind, come on. Kiss me somewhere. It's all right, come on, you'll do fine." John chuckled and put down his Tesco bags. "So, what's it to be, then, hmm?" He approached his friend who remained, standing like a frightened rabbit.

"Here?" John pointed at his neck. "Here again?" He pointed at the spot between his eyes. "Just don't for fuck's sake lick my nose again, yeah?" John stood before Sherlock, who was still dumfounded as to what to do.

"Hey, ok?" John got closer, and chuckled, then, impossibly, miraculously, he put his arms around Sherlock, and hugged him. This was completely unexpected, but Sherlock couldn't help but lean into the embrace. Then John was suddenly, and quickly unbuttoning his shirt. _What on earth? _thought Sherlock, but his imagination running wild with this new behavior of John's, was quickly quelled when the doctor pressed his lips to Sherlock's chest and blew a loud, sloppy wet raspberry onto his skin. John brought the shirt back together, not bothering about the buttons, and patted the spot on his chest.

"There you go. I got you first. Ahaha. I _win_." John winked at his friend, and took the Tesco bags off to the kitchen.

"You – you do not _win_!" Sherlock shouted indignantly. "It wasn't a contest, it's, it's, it's -."

"What? What is it, Sherlock? Ahaha. I win _today_ then. Tomorrow it ceases to be a contest, but it's a contest today, and I win. Now let me make us some tea, and don't be a sore loser."

"Oh my god," Sherlock turned to go sulk somewhere, but realized he still hadn't taken advantage of his _no permission required for gentle holding and touching _clause and wasn't to be deterred. He entered the kitchen.

"Ahaha, you've decided, then, what's it going to -."

Sherlock put his arms around John from behind and held him, caressing his neck with his lips. John was quiet, and held still, was relaxed, even, Sherlock could feel that he was. Encouraged, Sherlock continued to run his mouth over John's neck, nipping at his skin a little. John leaned against him. _Oh, god, he's letting me, _thought Sherlock. John had been more relaxed with him lately, but Sherlock still couldn't get over the novelty of it continued to be greedy for the contact. He held the doctor quietly for a moment and John spoke in a hoarse whisper, suddenly painfully intimate.

_"You know I want to, don't you?"_ John asked.

_"What?"_ Sherlock whispered back, not sure he could believe his ears, though he'd known all along what John was saying to be perfectly true. To hear him admit it, though, to hear him say the words was something quite new._  
_

_"I want -God this is going to sound - I want to - be able to give myself to you, you know that, I know you do."_

_"Well, yes."_

_"I'm just not ready. So - th- thanks for, ah - waiting for me."_

_"As you long as you want."_ Sherlock kissed his cheek and let him go. He leaned on the counter, next to where John was working. They stood in silence for a moment, as John put a tea tray together. Tea for three. Then Sherlock cleared his throat and adopted a more normal volume and tone when he spoke.

"What was that noisy thing you did on my skin?"

"I don't know, wet raspberry? Raspberry tart? Cuz it sounds like a fart? My American cousins called it a zorbot. Didn't your family have a name for it when you were small?"

"Ha."

"What? Didn't your mum or dad ever-."

"Please."

"Or Mycroft -?"

"Oh, _please_. Agh. Please don't evoke my childhood memories of _My_croft." He considered for a moment and continued. "I don't think my mother ever _touched_ me when I was small."

John was quiet. He knew Sherlock rarely if ever exaggerated factual items, and for him to say that his mother never touched him as child was almost too hard to bear. These seemingly small insights into Sherlock's childhood were always shocking to John, and always made him reassess things about his friend. John often wondered about why Sherlock was with him and Molly in this highly unconventional arrangement. But with a childhood like the one Sherlock alluded to, what's actually normal? Safety and affection was what any child sought, needed. _Plenty of that here, _thought John, as he glanced at the clock, expecting Molly any time.

John left what he was doing with the tea things and faced his friend, unbuttoning another couple of Sherlock's buttons. He smiled up at the taller man who had questions in his eyes, and leaned his head to one side, waiting for the answers, a small smile playing at one side of his mouth. John again placed his lips to his friend's chest and blew several more raspberries of varying degrees of wetness, volume, duration and intonation, while holding Sherlock firmly around the waist. When he was done, John had produced a concerto that would have reduced any group of 3 to 13-year-olds to rubble. Sherlock finally chuckled.

"Ahaha. Good. There, that's your lesson on raspberries for the day." John returned to the tea.

"Interesting. But what's it for?"

"You laughed."

"I – what?"

"You laughed, it took a while, but you finally laughed, that's when I stopped."

"And?"

"_That's_ what it's for."

Sherlock paused.

"Oh, I see. But that's ridiculous."

"That's correct." John had finished the tea and hoisted the tray. He looked up at his friend and thought _You break my heart, sometimes, Sherlock you honestly do._

"Come on, tea. Oh, Molly's here. More raspberries for you!"

Sherlock and John kissed Molly as she hung up her coat and stowed her bag, and John explained to her that Sherlock didn't know about raspberries.

"I think Sherlock should have lots of raspberries and lots of kisses, tonight, Molly, what do you think?"

John looked to Molly and made eye contact. They silently agreed that every child should have lots of wet raspberries and kisses and that if they didn't it was a bit of a crime. Sherlock saw their silent exchange and smiled inwardly. He knew perfectly well that they were thinking of him, communicating about him, and that they pitied him somewhat for his pathetic childhood. He knew, too that they sometimes thought of him as still in a kind of childhood, emotionally. _Perhaps I am. _ But he didn't mind because he knew that their motivation was purely based on how very much they cared for him. _Thank god I don't have to verbalize any of this its so potentially nauseating god I love them I love them both so much._

Molly was delighted to give a more thorough wet raspberry demonstration and on various parts of the body where John hadn't ventured. Molly persisted with her demonstrations until Sherlock was chuckling and then laughing outright. When they were in bed, Molly continued blowing raspberries on anyone who came near her, and they laughed until they were exhausted, falling asleep in one another's arms like children.

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**Thanks, fellow travellers from all over the world for checking out today's new chapter, as well as past chapters.**

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**A review doesn't have to be fancy or review-y: you can just say 'hi!' and I would love that!**

**Because why? Because you are wonderful! **

**(Let me know what the Brit is for zorbot if you know for sure! I lived there for a while, but I don't know everything – please forgive a culturally impoverished American girl.)**

**(starved for PM's and reviews! STARVED!)**


	20. Navy Silk Pyjamas 030813

**Something a little shorter for your busy weekend, hope you like it.**

**In which John makes a little progress.**

**Polyamory, my friends.**

**Navy Silk Pyjamas**

John had a pair of pyjamas at Sherlock's nowadays. Whenever he put them on, though, it wasn't long before either he or his wife or his friend took them off again. He smiled at the thought as he put them on tonight, still new, still a vibrant navy silk. Something he would never buy for himself, he thought as he felt the rich fabric in his hands. The set had been a gift from Sherlock, and he reddened a little at such an intimate present from a man, but he shrugged it off. Bigger fish to fry tonight, he thought.

Tonight was another evening of waiting for Molly to get home from a conference.

John stretched out in the bed on his usual side of it, and waited, knowing Sherlock would be in, in just a moment. John rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, imagining the recent scenarios in which their physical relationship had deepened more and more and all the little moments of physical contact that both Sherlock and he himself had initiated with one another while in bed with Molly. But now Molly was on another conference, and they were to be alone for the first time in some weeks.

While he still wasn't ready for certain activities, John was determined not to put off any progress that might be made between him and Sherlock tonight. He had a new resolve to get over his reluctance with his friend. It would take as long as it took, he allowed, but he couldn't let his fears remain a permanent fixture to rule what happened to him in bed. He _wanted_ to give himself to his friend, _wanted_ to feel free with both Sherlock and Molly in bed. His fears seemed mean to him now, small-minded and selfish.

"You look very pretty in those." Sherlock had silently entered the room, smiled wickedly as he stripped off his own clothes down to his boxers and slipped into bed.

"Well, thanks," John cleared his throat. "they're, ah, lovely."

"Mmm, I'm glad you like them." Sherlock once again adopted John's stance in bed, flat on his back with his arms clasped behind his neck leaving a wide berth between them and waited for John. They lay quietly for some moments, and then John chuckled and spoke.

"Come here."

"Hmm? What John? Did you say something to me?"

"Come _here_, you idiot."

Like a cat, and grinning but somehow knowing that this was coming and this very evening, Sherlock leaned toward him and crept over to John. Raising himself up, Sherlock looked down at the doctor as he continued to lie on his back, hands clasped behind his head.

"Anything specific in mind?" Sherlock grinned with all the smugness and wicked enjoyment there was in him.

"No, nothing specific." John smiled back at his friend, maintaining his stance, and he hoped, some shred of dignity, authority.

"Ah, I see," Sherlock splayed his hands across John's chest. "Anything forbidden?"

"Well, yes. Ah, a number of things I'm sure you can imagine."

"Of course, of course," Sherlock purred, "So, 'no permission needed for gentle holding and touching,' and 'no fouls exist unless they are called,' am I right?"

"Ahaha." John paused. He wanted to get it right, so his friend understood how he was feeling, how he felt about moving forward. John continued.

"If I could just hear myself think aloud for a moment. Um, if we could put rules aside and just let me say again that there are a couple things I'm not ready for, and that I –I- I _trust_ you, and that I feel – I, um, need to try to – um – well, I'd like it under_stood _that I want to, oh, god, move forward, but I'm still rather nervous, as you can see, about going too fast. And finally, just that I think, um, that revisiting established, um, avenues is the best way to start. . . ?"

Sherlock grinned one of his predatory grins that rather terrified John.

"So, _no _rules?" Sherlock purred, his hand on John's hip, circling. John sighed.

"Stop trying to frighten me, and put your arms around me for a moment, will you?"

Sherlock put his arms around his friend, and John wrapped his own arms around Sherlock's back, placing a hand in Sherlock's hair, stroking him as he had the last time they had been alone together. This was their starting point, he knew. He enjoyed the familiarity of it, as well as the promise it held and he was right to assume that Sherlock felt the same way. Sherlock turned his head to face John.

"I don't want to frighten you," Sherlock's grin was gone.

"I'm not," said John quickly, "I'm not frightened, I promise you. John stroked his friend's cheek, the same as before, running his fingers through his hair. "I'm just – you know, a little nervous."

"We could wait for Molly. Will that make you feel – less nervous?"

"Mmm. She'll be here soon. You - probably know what you're doing."

"Yes, of course," Sherlock smiled, raising himself up. He started unbuttoning John's pyjamas.

"Hmm, what are you -."

"Shhh, just a few buttons. Then we'll revisit some established avenues, hmmhmm?" Sherlock unbuttoned the garment, spreading it open. He reached to stroke John's neck with his fingers before he re-established his embrace, now with his cheek against his friend's skin the way he liked. He raised his head and tongued and sucked a nipple, stroking John's flank. He listened to John hiss, and turned to smile at him.

"All right?"

"Yes," John said without hesitation. He was turned on, his friend's touch was electric, he couldn't help but respond, he just couldn't bring himself to touch him back, they way he easily could with a woman. _Why not? What's the difference?_

Sherlock continued to gently tongue and bite his friend's chest, as his hand circled the skin at John's ribs, then lower, and lower to his hip. Finally, Sherlock reached around to grip John's buttock, kneading him there, through the silk. John's hand tightened his grip somewhat in Sherlock's hair.

"Mmm," Sherlock purred. "Navy is a lovely color. Almost black." Then he smoothly hooked his fingers into John's waistband, and slid the pyjamas slowly down John's legs, letting them bunch up around his ankles. He left them there for John to kick off, or leave as he wished. He smiled to see John kick off the pyjamas, almost offhandedly and then spread his legs, slightly, bending a knee. Sherlock sat up, stroking the inside of John's thigh as his friend looked at him. Sherlock took John's cock in his hand gently and then firmly stroked him once, twice and more.

"We've established this avenue, haven't we?" Sherlock asked, smiling into John's face as John arched his back, clearly enjoying the contact.

"Yes," John managed, "this avenue."

Sherlock stretched out next to John, and letting go of him for a moment, Sherlock shucked off his own pants.

"Face, me John." Sherlock reached to re-establish his contact with John as his friend leaned to face him. Sherlock took John's hand and with little prompting, John took Sherlock's erection in his hand, and copied Sherlock's hold and rhythm. Sherlock leaned in and licked John's neck, then bit down gently, holding his skin in his teeth for several moments, then let go. Sherlock leaned his head back, offering his own neck, and John leaned in. He licked the skin, then licked again, finding himself swirling his tongue back and forth, and thrusting with more abandon into Sherlock's hand. He became self conscious after a moment and pulled back, looking at Sherlock. His friend's eyes were glazed over, but he was smiling at John, his movements as he stroked John were languid, relaxed.

"Hmm. Self conscious already? Well, that's all right. That's lovely, but we'll come back to this another time, shall we? Something else I wanted to do." Sherlock released John, and pulled himself down to his friend's hips. Looking up and smiling at him, Sherlock took the tip of the doctor's cock in his mouth. He watched as the doctor closed his eyes.

"Look at me, John?" Sherlock let go of John's head, and then took it up again, and John complied, opening his eyes, realizing it was only good manners, after all.

"You can put your hands in my hair. You can own it more, you're here, too." Sherlock re-established contact with John quickly, stroking him a little more urgently now with his mouth, tonguing him around the tip, then plunging down his shaft. John put his hands on Sherlock's head as directed, and fisted his hair. He'd done this to only a couple of girls, when he was young, when he was drunk. But it didn't seem particularly gentlemanly to him, and he'd almost always refrained. Now he was being directed, encouraged – he firmly pulled Sherlock's mouth closer to the root of his cock, establishing his own rhythm in his friend's mouth, pushing in more aggressively, rocking his hips, grinding. They stayed in this pattern for some few moments, and Sherlock pulled away laughing.

"That's right, Doctor, a little less tender bedside manner is required." He pulled himself up to John's neck, never having enough of his neck, kissing him biting, licking. Sherlock chuckled.

"Oh, it's lovely to hear laughing from in here, is everything ok?" Molly asked quietly, coming into the room.

"Ah, Molly, lovely, come and take off your clothes for us," Sherlock rose from the bed and swept her in his arms. John leaned up on one side and watched as Sherlock disrobed Molly, licking her as ardently as he had just been licking John. He got her blouse and bra off, and licked her breasts and nipples, then he got off her skirt and pants, and pressed his face into her sex, circling his tongue around in her cleft. Then he kissed her, and stood up. He reached into the closet and pulled out Molly's dressing gown. It was a deep red, also a gift from Sherlock, perfect for her coloring, and with her hair free and spilling out, she was quite exotic looking in it. John reached for her, as she climbed into the bed.

"What's been going on, hmm? Up to no good?"

"I hope it's good? John?" Sherlock got back into the bed with the pair, smiling into John's face. John could smell Molly on his face, his mouth, and was sorely tempted to reach in to kiss him, but just couldn't manage it psychologically. Sherlock winked at John, fulling in the know, and moved down into the bed again, to John's hips.

"Ahaha."

"Oh, I see. Well, maybe I can watch what you've been doing?" Molly put her hands on John's face.

"Yes, of course. I was just - ." Sherlock returned to sucking John's cock, and Molly hummed her appreciation, kissing John, and stroking Sherlock's head at the same time. But Sherlock quickly went below to John's testicles, tonguing and biting him there.

"Oh, _Christ." _John felt as though every muscle in his body suddenly tensed up, he trembled in Molly's arms. Meanwhile Sherlock took one and then the other testicle wholly into his mouth, laving at each with his tongue, but he didn't stay long. He lifted John's leg, and ducked his head under to his backside, rimming him with his tongue.

"Oh, fuck's sake, Sherlock."

"That's right, say my name, John, I do love to hear you say it." Sherlock continued tonguing John's puckered hole, and then he pushed his tongue firmly in.

"_Sher_lock."

"You can tell me to stop any time, John. No? John, can you speak?" Sherlock grinned, though no one saw him.

"Yes, I can speak," John managed to squeak out. Molly laughed quietly.

"Oh, good, I'm so glad." Sherlock chuckled, but continued more gently. "Are you telling me to stop? Hmm? No?" Sherlock continued to tongue into John, entering him with his tongue from time to time, letting John get used to it.

"Kiss me, darling, show me what he's doing," Molly prompted, opening her mouth for her husband. John put his tongue at Molly's lip, and when Sherlock pressed his tongue into John, John did the same to Molly's mouth.

"Oh, god, John," Molly breathed, waiting for Sherlock to plunge his tongue in again. Sherlock didn't make her wait long.

"Sher- _Oh_." John gave up, Sherlock saw, and watched his friend lean back into the pillows, balling the sheets in his hands. He noticed with satisfaction that John also relaxed his legs somewhat, letting them fall open more naturally. Sherlock continued working John with his tongue, stroking his cock gently as he did.

"That's right, John, relax, just feel it," Molly whispered, as she too, noticed John's surrender. Sherlock continued to tongue John, and then gently, and slowly, probed the outer skin with a single finger. John's eyes shot open.

"_What?_" was all John said. Sherlock said nothing, continuing to tongue and finger John.

"What's he doing, John?" Molly asked with a smile in her voice, somehow knowing. "Tell me what it feels like."

John's voice was hoarse when he spoke.

"Oh, god, he's using his finger. I – "

"Inside you? asked Molly.

"No, he's, ah god, he's just circling around outside he's -."

"Oh, lovely, ask him to go ahead."

"_What_?"

"Ask him to go ahead and fuck you with his finger, John, he's brilliant with his fingers." John's mind was reeling, he felt as though he were falling down the rabbit hole, nothing to grab to stop the fall. There was no going back. There was no protection against something that – yes, something that he somehow wanted.

"Yes. Yes, go ahead, slowly -." John said, his voice dry and hoarse.

"Ah, John, love, yes, I will," Sherlock said as he took John's cock in his mouth and pressed a single finger into him. John moaned loudly, but Sherlock noticed, he began to relax into it almost immediately. Sherlock moaned and moved his finger gently and slowly, then more quickly and urgently as the two men found a rhythm for John.

John felt a prickly heat flare up in his neck and face as Sherlock's finger entered him, slowly, and all the way in. He jerked involuntarily as Sherlock brushed the prostate, and let out a little yelp. Molly quieted him with her kisses.

"Oh, my god," John murmured as he alternately stroked and fisted Sherlock's hair, and held Molly's face in the other hand. He tried to relax, but John wasn't able to get past the heat and mortification that Sherlock was causing to build up in him. It was good, but still so foreign.

"All right, John? Talk to Sherlock a little. Tell him how it feels, hmm?"

"It's – oh, god, it's good – it's -."

"You can move, John, _move_, darling, he won't break," Molly said, encouraging John. Sherlock took John deep down this throat at this, and John moaned loudly, but ground and bucked his hips more freely, controlling Sherlock's head more forcefully. Sherlock pulled away momentarily.

"Come in my mouth, John, give it all to me." Sensing the doctor was close, Sherlock made a point of brushing John's prostate as he thrust into him with his finger, and it was only a couple of strokes before John's back arched up off the mattress, and he was coming into Sherlock's mouth, groaning out his release with abandon. Molly held him around his shoulders as he collapsed back on the mattress and Sherlock remained, still sucking John's spent cock, carefully licking and taking in all the fluid there was to have. When he was done, Sherlock crawled up on the other side of John, his arms around his waist, and smiled at Molly as they cradled their husband and friend in their arms.

"John in the middle," Molly murmured. "It's nice."

"Yes, it's not often," Sherlock agreed, reaching over to her to stroke her leg, and the curve to her backside.

* * *

John came back to himself, bit by bit registering the things in the room, the voices, the chuckling, the arms that held him. He was in the middle, he realized. _When was the last time,_ he thought, _long time, usually on the outside somewhere, somehow._ He felt trapped. Sherlock's strong arms didn't help the matter. Then he felt emasculated and small. He didn't feel free here, it made him gasp for air a bit, he longed to get out, despite his deep feeling for his wife and friend.

"Stop it, John." Sherlock, the git.

"Stop what?"

"Thinking. It's annoying. Also, you're wrong."

"What? What am I wrong about?"

"You're feeling unwell between us, aren't you? As though you're being held against your will, I know you don't really _think _ that, but it's how you're feeling. And then, too, you're having that size issue again."

"_Size_ issue? I am certainly _not_ having anything of the -."

"And you're also feeling a little culpable about something, probably about not being able to reciprocate properly after the amazing orgasm I just gave you, am I right?"

John hung his head, it was perfectly true he felt this way. He'd told Molly about these feelings before. Had Molly told Sherlock? If she had, it didn't matter, he already knew. Sherlock continued, more softly, more gently than before.

"John, do you know the kind of emotional life I had before you returned to London? Before we met?"

"You didn't have an emotional life, Sherlock," John said.

"That's right. Do you think I was ok? Molly knows the answer. But I really didn't know anything else. Of course I had my work. That's always been in place, study and work. But, the contrast between that time and the time you and I spent together before I – before I had to -. And then the 18 months away was even more – hmmm. To say nothing of my _child_hood. I know you both think my childhood was pitiable even from what little I've told you. What I'm trying to say is, John, honestly, and Molly, you've both given me-. I don't think you can have an accurate conception of how-. In my – in my - in my life, ah, I've never been -."

"So happy?" Molly prompted.

Sherlock paused.

"No, no that can't possibly be the right word."

"It is, though," Molly kissed him.

"Oh for god's sake. All I wanted to say was that strict adherence to reciprocation in the way that you're thinking, John, is absolutely unnecessary, if not to say ridiculous, under the circumstances. I'm sure you'll agree if you think about it rationally."

_Rationally, _ thought John, _I'm in bed with a man and a woman, and he wants me to think about things rationally. _

But Sherlock's little speech moved John, though he still felt a sting of shame at being deduced so completely correctly. He ran his hand across his friend's shoulders, and then into his hair, massaging his scalp, but he said nothing.

Sherlock rubbed his cheek against John's arm and readjusted his arms around his friend. Molly was kissing John's neck and he turned to her, kissing her in return.

"John, darling, do you feel any better - between us? You have been before. Can't you feel the good part yet?" Molly cooed, hugging him tighter.

"Yes, John, feel the good part," Sherlock chuckled wickedly, pulling John tighter to him.

"I feel your erection, but I don't think that's what Molly was referring to."

"Hmmhmm," Sherlock chuckled. "Yes it was. Wasn't it Molly? Ah, Molly, will you come here a moment, please? I want to show you something."

Molly kissed John, and clamoured over him to Sherlock, whom she straddled as he lay on his back.

John leaned up on an elbow and watched Molly and Sherlock enjoy their initial moment of penetration, and then establish a slow easy rhythm. John reflected on having been held in the middle, and his feeling of entrapment. Molly was right, though, he'd felt fine in the past, it was only once in a while he'd gotten panicky like tonight. What was the good part? Ah, yes. Safety. He'd felt it tonight, too. The panic had eased away and he'd felt it, that easy sweet feeling of being in a cocoon.

After a few moments, as Molly rode him, Sherlock looked over to John and the two made eye contact. Sherlock leaned his head back, exposing his neck to John, offering it, and without thinking John leaned in the short distance, and licked and bit Sherlock's neck, marking him: there would be a deep bruise. Sherlock moaned, deeply satisfied.

* * *

Sherlock splashed his face with water in the morning and looked at his reflection in the mirror. There was a particularly vivid purple mark on the side of his neck. His shirt would cover it, if it were buttoned up as far as he usually did up his shirts. He probed the mark with his finger, only slightly tender, gone in a couple of days. He hurried back to his bedroom, empty now, with John and Molly off to work. He picked up a shirt from the chair, the aubergine one, and put it on, looking in the mirror. Yes, he'd have to leave an extra button undone, but the mark would show. The shade matched exactly, the shirt to the mark. John would be home in seven hours, Molly a little later. He smiled and reddened.

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	21. Sharing Molly 031313

**'Something fairly simple,' John had said on the phone. 'Molly thought you might like it particularly'.**

**Soooo fluffy, you'll only need peanut butter on that sandwich. **

**I hope you like it.**

**Sharing Molly**

"What are you up to?" John came home to find his wife lying naked on a towel on their bed.

"What do you imagine?" Molly smiled. They were to meet Sherlock in about an hour at 221B, just down the street from their flat.

"Oh, did you – hmm. Interesting. Getting cleaned out?" A few items in the bathroom and on the bed that led John to understand that his wife had just administered an enema to herself.

"What did you have in mind, Molly?" John stretched out beside her on the bed and took her in his arms.

"I leave it to you. You're the ringmaster."

"Am I?" John wondered.

"I don't say it to flatter you. He's completely deferential to you in bed. I imagine it's a kind of surrender for him, too, you know."

"I know. I know he is. But I'm not looking for any kind of -."

"I know."

"Any kind of reassurance. I feel fine, I'm fine with what's been happening, how it's been going. That it's equal between the three of us is even more important, really, isn't it? And it's certainly working out that way, better than I'd imagined. You seem – are you, Molly? Are you happy with us? With us all?"

"Mmm, yes," Molly leaned in to kiss him.

She relished the roughness of her husband's afternoon beard. She tipped her head back, cuing him to run his chin and jaw along her throat, and down to her breasts and he obliged her, kissing her. But she soon had to pull away.

"Oh, excuse me, I have to – you know." She smiled and scampered off to the bathroom.

John stayed on the bed, reflecting as he listened to the sounds of water running in the bathroom.

It was true what Molly said, being so thoroughly deferential to anyone under any circumstances must be a total release for Sherlock. He realized what a testament it was to Sherlock's trust in John and Molly that he could let himself go so completely with them. John took a deep breath as he thought of the kind of release his friend must have at being able to give over control once in a while. What a relief it must be, too, that he was able to do it with people he trusted and cared for, rather than– _oh, god._ John shuddered at the length he knew lonely people had to go to for some kind of connection. Images of his first few weeks back in London, fresh from Afghanistan came to mind. _That's finished, now, _he had to remind himself.

John further considered the bits and bobs of Sherlock's childhood that he had meted out here and there, and the desolate picture they had painted. And what of his adolescence? The horror that almost everyone suffered at the hands of their teen years must have magnified itself many times in Sherlock's case, or he had already started to build those barriers that he had cemented so perfectly in place.

And what on earth had made him abstain for so long? Clearly he wasn't a virgin as Mycroft had intimated, but had had some experiences here and there. But during at least the two years that John had initially lived with him, John had been in his friend's company almost constantly, and was fairly sure he'd never – although, with Sherlock who knew? Whether he'd had a life whoring in the clubs, as he would seem to tell it, or whether he had had several bad experiences, it didn't matter. John wondered if he should ask, if it would be appreciated. In any case, he thought, something must have shut him down at some point, entirely. But no matter what specifically had happened, John knew, the result had been a thoroughly lonely beginning for this man, his friend.

John thought back to having held Sherlock and stroking his hair. Such a simple thing and it seemed to mean a lot to Sherlock. Not just physically, but Sherlock had seemed deeply moved by the experience as well. John fought with his embarrassment at withholding something so simple for so long. He resolved anew to let things continue to move forward.

There was a movement near the door, and John looked up. Molly's naked form leaned over him, smiling.

"All clean," She said, kissing him. She stretched herself out over John's fully clothed body, rubbing against him, encouraging him to stroke her skin and he didn't disappoint her. His hands came to rest finally on the lovely curve of her backside. He kneaded it, and pulled her apart a bit, dipping a finger into her.

"Mmm, yes? Who's there?" She joked, pressing back into John's hand.

John felt that she had applied a bit of lubricant to herself, and he was able to easily push his finger all the way into her.

"Just me, your husband. Who's this for, by the way?"

"Mmm, him, if you don't mind? When we went to the artist, he, uh, expressed an interest. Oh, John! I forgot to tell you, something else rather revealing happened."

Molly told John about how Sherlock had demonstrated to Molly how to hold herself in the artist's harness, how she would have to stretch herself in a spread eagle fashion for the sake of the body painting. How Sherlock had gotten into the harness himself to _show_ her, and how he'd lingered rather longer than had been necessary, and how he had seemed to communicate something to her, smiling and bashful as he stood spread eagle in the harness, himself, and how he'd never mentioned it afterward.

"Oh, I see," said John, "He might like a bit of restraint, then?"

"Mmm, I really think so."

"Do you think he needs it to be at all formal? Or strict? I'm not that interested in getting too involved. I mean we're not -."

"Oh, I don't think so, no it was rather a bashful request."

"Interesting. Food for thought. Well, look at the time, shall we?"

* * *

Sherlock was in a rush to get home. _The bloody traffic's not moving at all why do they all apply their horns at times like this when nothing's moving it's absurdly useless John and Molly Molly and John they're almost certainly home by now waiting waiting for me anxiety anxiety coming for me now outrun it but how when traffic here is at a standstill Molly and John John and Molly. _

"Let me out here. Thank you."

He tossed a few notes to the cabbie, and started briskly walking. Sherlock was blocks from the flat, but he already felt better striding down the street, out of the car, out of the bloody traffic, finally more firmly on his way. 'Something fairly simple,' John had said on the phone, only moments ago, but added, 'Molly thought you might like it particularly,' _Jesus Christ, what on earth could it be?_ Sherlock thought. His head had spun as he felt the blood drain from it.

Sherlock picked up his pace, fairly trotting down the street, barely avoiding other pedestrians. He hardly noticed when he broke into a run. It felt as though he were successfully outrunning the anxiety, and the simple fact of actually running toward Molly and John _John and Molly_, was pure bliss. He had several moments of childlike abandon, and an urge to giggle. He barely dodged pedestrians, now, as he broke a slight sweat, grinning a little madly.

221. He charged up the steps and burst into the flat. No one. He took in a deep breath, no, no one here, but _they're here._ Molly's bag and light coat stowed and hung. John's laptop on the desk. It was quiet, but there was a life and tension to the air in the room. He quickly shrugged out of his coat, flinging it to a chair, and made his way to the bedroom where he found the door open. He stepped inside.

John and Molly were involved in an ardent embrace on the bed, John in a dressing gown and what seemed to be nothing else and Molly fully dressed. They sat up at Sherlock's entrance.

"Please," Sherlock's breath was still short from his run, "Don't let me disturb you." He stood before the couple, breathing heavily.

"Did you jog here, Sherlock?" Molly got up and handed him a glass of water she got from the dresser. "You've broken a sweat."

"I'm – I'm sorry -.

"What? Don't be ridiculous. Relax. Take a moment, hmm?" John arranged his dressing gown for a little more modesty, and smiled at his friend, who took a seat in the small armchair in the corner of the room.

"Although, I must say, it's lovely of you to rush to us, love," Molly continued. "But we wouldn't have hurried off if you had been late."

"No, of course not, but I was irritated by the – cab. The traffic. So I got out and I suppose I did have a bit of a run for a few blocks."

Molly leaned down and kissed Sherlock as he relaxed into his chair, then she returned to John's arms for a brief kiss then the couple sat up, and smiled at Sherlock. John and Molly chatted about some fairly quotidian nonsense to do with their flat, and some other details of the day, but Sherlock knew they were only waiting for him to catch his breath. His breathing finally returned to almost normal, and John began.

"We're going to share Molly tonight," John offered.

"Mmm, how will we do that?" Sherlock smiled.

"Well, Molly will tell us, hmm? Molly?"

Molly hopped up off the bed, and John knelt up at the edge of the bed. Molly sat at the edge facing Sherlock with her back against John. A familiar starting position for the three. Molly smiled as John reached in front of her and unbuttoned her blouse as Sherlock watched.

"Remember this?" she asked Sherlock.

"Yes, yes. The first night. When you, - you came to me, John, Molly." Sherlock threatened to wax emotional. John hushed him.

"Shh, we're here now," he said.

"We love you, too, Sherlock," Molly added.

"Yes," said John.

"Yes," said Sherlock hoarsely, as he removed Molly's blouse and bra, leaning in to her, kissing her breasts, her neck and pressing his face to hers. He held her for a moment, just held her with his face against her breast, breathing in her scent, and living the wonder of the moment. John's hand came to rest on his head, then stroked his hair. Sherlock hummed his contentment. Then he was running his hands up Molly's legs to her thighs and bottom, to find that she had on no pants at all under her skirt.

"Molly, what have you done with your pants?" Sherlock was smiling as he kissed her and she felt his suppressed chuckles against her lips.

"John got there first, Sherlock."

"Hmm, John, really. It's hardly fair to have started without me." Sherlock unclasped her skirt, as John chuckled. Molly lifted her hips to help him as Sherlock slid the skirt down her legs. John was running his hands up and down Molly's back and she arched back into his touch, then arched forward to Sherlock's hands. With a frustrated yet somehow also appreciative huff, Molly rose and went to the dresser. As soon as she was clear of John, however, Sherlock knelt in her place, taking his friend's half hard erection into his mouth.

"Ah, Sherlock, that's not nec-"

"Please let me, John -."

"Ah," said Molly, "Lovely, Sherlock, but just for a moment, I'm feeling neglected lately, you see."

Sherlock slowly pulled away from John and took Molly in his arms, kissing her, holding her face in his hands.

"Are you, Molly, darling? I'm so sorry, let me fix it, please?" Molly felt his quiet laughter as he pressed his lips to her temple, and hair. She looked up at him and smiled, leaning up for a kiss, and then she placed something in his hands. Sherlock looked at the tube of lubricant Molly had put in his hands and pursed his lips in a tight knowing smile.

"I'm all clean. And John's already had a go at, um, getting me ready, but maybe you'd like to as well?" Then she paused as she was about to turn her back to him.

"You have done this before, haven't you?"

"Mmm, yes, but, ah - maybe I should say - ."

"Hmm? What?" Molly was an enchanting vision before him, naked, her hair flowing around her, her lips wet and slightly parted.

"Just never– ah, never with a girl."

"I see," she smiled. "How interesting. I'll be the first for you, then?"

"Well, yes." Sherlock could feel his blush come on in the usual manner, his chest, his neck and face.

"Well, just take your time. I'm sure you'll do fine. Um, you might be in for a surprise." And she turned her back to him, leaning against him, letting him run his hands up and down her naked body, running his nails across her chest, her nipples. _What kind of a surprise, _Sherlock wondered as Molly leaned forward to John. John was still on the edge of the bed, and Molly took him in her mouth, presenting her backside as high as she could to the man behind her. She smiled as John's skin was still wet from Sherlock's attentions earlier, and she concentrated on the taste of it, to see if she could identify it as his. She licked the bit of wet from the tip of John's cock and tickled him around the head with her tongue before taking him deeper and deeper into her mouth.

She was just beginning to drown her senses in John when Molly felt Sherlock's hands on her bottom, spreading her apart. A slick finger entered her nether hole and she felt her face break into a hot flush. She pressed herself back into the hand that was penetrating her. Her thoughts cast back to the painter and the filthy tarp where she'd laid down in the studio. How Sherlock had kissed her when the artist had left the room and said he wanted to take from behind like this. She hummed onto John's cock then pulled away.

"Ready, John?" she asked.

"Mmm, I think so, when you are, sweetheart."

Molly crawled somewhat reluctantly from Sherlock's hands to John, mounting him. She got well anchored onto him, then leaned forward, presenting her arse for Sherlock as best she could. She felt his hands again – _oh, lovely._ She covered John's face with wet kisses.

"Two now, Molly darling?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, please, , _oh, god." _Molly's face flushed at Sherlock's penetration. Two fingers found their mark and pressed gently in, then pumped in and out a bit. The lube was cool, but quickly warmed against her skin and left her lovely and slick, she squirmed and wriggled her hips.

"That's all right, go ahead, Sherlock. We mustn't make John wait too long."

"Yes, of course," Sherlock's voice was low and strained. Three fingers and a little more of the lubricant and he was twisting and scissoring his fingers in and out of her harder and harder.

"Ah, yes, ah, good," Molly murmured as she kissed John and whispered her approval to him, rubbing her face against her husband's trying to alleviate the heat that was building up in her.

"Ahaha, Sherlock, do you want to -?"

"Oh, god," said Sherlock with a huff as he realized he was still fully clothed. Molly felt his hands leave her body, and heard a flurry of clothing activity behind her and he was touching her again in only a few moments.

"Oh, Sherlock, I hope you don't mind – on the dresser?"

Molly and John were already establishing a rhythm as Sherlock tore his eyes off them and turned to the dresser and picked up a condom.

"Of course, of course," he murmured, turning back to the bed. He tore open the packet, and rolled it over his tip and down his shaft. He approached the absolutely enchanting sight of Molly's bare and open bottom rising and falling as she and John moaned in mutual satisfaction with one another. Sherlock opened the lubricant again and made a slippery mess of his cock. He tossed the tube on the bed, and splayed his hand across Molly's bottom, directing her to hold for a moment as he pressed up close to her. He thumbed her opening, slightly reddened from the recent attention paid, and pressed the tip of his cock into her.

"Oh, god, oh, Molly –_._" Sherlock couldn't help groaning out.

"Mmm, yes, yes, go ahead," she said. Sherlock could feel the electric tension in her hips which threatened to buck and swivel at any moment. He pressed into her further, watching as his tip disappeared into her and he listened as Molly's vocalizations grew more strained and deep. He felt her muscles constrict around him, and he had to hold still for a moment, massaging her hips in his hands, hoping some of her tension would ease a bit.

"Please, _please_," Molly begged, feeling Sherlock just entering, but not far enough, not deeply enough.

"Molly, love just a moment," Sherlock strained. Finally he was able to press in further and at last he sank in all the way, holding Molly's hips in place, gripping her with his fingers, digging into her.

"Sherlock? All right?" Molly asked.

"Just - yes, oh, _Molly_, ah- go ahead."

Molly began to move and John and Sherlock stayed with her as she developed a slow steady rhythm. She pushed up and down on John with a slight swivel, as she pressed all the way down then up again. She tried to stay steady to allow John and Sherlock to keep up with her.

"Oh, love, I think, I think I can feel –." John began.

"Oh god, I hadn't thought of that, Oh, god Molly, John, _John_, I can feel you."

"John, love, can you feel Sherlock?"

"Yes, yes, I can – Ahaha," John chuckled and closed his eyes, straining to take in the sensations as his cock rubbed inside Molly, and brushed Sherlock's shaft deep inside her. John placed his hands on Molly's back and Sherlock leaned forward, pressing his own hands down on John's. Their eyes locked.

"John, oh god it's so—."

"Yeah, I – Sherlock, Molly, love—."

Molly took all this in and was in heaven between them. She studied John's face as he strained to feel and continued to register Sherlock's cock thrusting against his own even while inside Molly. He smiled, and grimaced, and kissed her and chuckled, and though he continued to be embarrassed, and warred a little between his obvious pleasures and the mortification he continued to have, he looked like he was having a ball. Sherlock, on the other hand, Molly sensed was much more deeply moved by the events as they moved along. He'd been unprepared, Molly had correctly predicted, for feeling John inside her, and was a quite unprepared for actually making love to both his friends at once. He was rapt, enchanted in love. _In love, he's in love with us both, _thought Molly as she started twisting her hips with more heat, more need.

"Oh, god, Molly, _Molly_ -," She heard Sherlock straining to say the words, and she knew he was closing in. _Oh, dear, I'm no where near,_ she thought, and looked to her husband.

"John? All right?" She asked him.

"It's good – I'm - oh god -," he managed and reached to kiss her, arching his back as he registered Sherlock's cock against his own. He bucked against Molly, suddenly, involuntarily and she responded, picking up the pace. Sherlock stayed with them, gripping into Molly's hips more and more painfully, Molly noted, revelling in both the pain and the possession.

Suddenly Molly's comprehension of the world around her was falling apart, and she felt the waves of her climax starting, seemingly from out of nowhere. She'd thought she had a way to go yet, but she was falling apart, falling apart, her face and neck burning up. She felt her hips bucking against the two men uncontrollably and she heard herself grunting animal sounds she couldn't at all account for. That sweet wave was rising, rising in her, bubbling up, blanking out everything in her world but the motion and the heat and she came, her head, back and hips spasming out of control. Sherlock felt her rising urgency and gripped her hips, pumping hard and harder, his release coming at the same time as Molly. He leaned hard onto her, pushing her down on top of John, but her bucking and twisting couldn't be stopped and the two came at about the same time.

John smiled, still pulsing softly into Molly, as she and Sherlock rode out the waves of their tandem orgasms. Sherlock was able to roll off of Molly, and stretch himself out on the bed next to the couple, lying on his side, watching his friends.

"Molly, sweetheart, can I -?" John maneuvered Molly onto her side.

"Yes, please, darling.," Molly kissed him tenderly, and John had her on her back, and proceeded to shag her more thoroughly than Sherlock had ever seen him do before. But he was unrushed, as ever, methodical, almost clinical, though utterly tender and loving. The angles that were calculated, the different positions the doctor found that would give her the most pleasure, gauging her responses, changing positions to accommodate her. Finally he flipped her onto her stomach and hauled her hips up, finishing her from behind, managing to bring her to another climax as he reached his own, and then the two collapsed, John lying between his wife and friend.

Sherlock was deeply moved by his friends' lovemaking, as he always was. He couldn't resist them, now, had to touch them, feel them, _taste_ them. He moved in behind John, spooning him, clasping his friend to him tightly. He reached for Molly, too, stroking her hair, and arm. Molly knew Sherlock's need to be close to the two of them after John and Molly coupled, and hooked a leg over John's hip, to let Sherlock caress her calf and ankle. She reached to him, running her fingers through his hair, as he kissed John's neck and murmured to him.

"That was lovely, John, lovely, you're both so lovely together, Oh, Molly, I love to watch you," Sherlock was saying, kissing John's ear and neck.

"Shh, Sherlock, it's all right," John also knew that Sherlock's emotions were rather tender at these moments.

"I know, I know, I'm too, I'm too - , but I want to give that to you, John, I want to do that for you, so thoroughly, so specifically, I want, ah, god, you're both so lovely."

"It's all right, love, it's all right," Molly soothed, now.

"I know, I'm sorry, I'm - I'm ridiculous – god. I'll be quiet, now," But he managed for only a moment. "God, what did I just say? What is it about you when you're together that makes me so -Mmm. So revoltingly effusive?"

"I don't know, but I love it, don't stop." Molly said.

"It's lovely, Sherlock, don't worry about it."

"Mmm," Sherlock continued to lick the sweat off John's neck and hairline as he stroked his friend's throat and shoulder.

"_Sher_lock," John chuckled, smiling at Molly.

"Mmm? Not good?"

"No, no - it's lovely, it's lovely, go ahead. You're lovely, Sherlock, I love you."

Suddenly, the only sound in the room was that of three people holding their breath. Finally John broke the silence with a sigh.

"I said it," John said gently, "and I meant it."

"Oh, John, you're irresistible ," Molly kissed him.

Sherlock pressed his face into John's neck, and held him more tightly.

"John, I -, I – Molly, I -."

"Don't be ridiculous, you don't have to say it back, love. I know how you feel about us, about me. You say it all the time. It's obvious," John said, reaching back to rub Sherlock's hip. But Sherlock couldn't resist the opportunity.

"Oh, god I love you. I love you both so much."

**There you go, enjoy your coffee break!**

**Thanks, fellow travellers from around the world, for checking out my pages! I would soooooo love to hear from you!  
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**Reviews always give me momentum for the next installment! **


	22. Humiliation and Frustration 031513

**From the sublime to the ridiculous in under 2,500 words.**

**Starts like CSI, ends like The Love Boat**

**John 0, Sherlock 1**

**Hope you like it!**

* * *

**Humiliation and Frustration**

_This ridiculous crime scene tape all over the place does there have to be so much of it ducking under it stepping over it who puts all of this tape out I've never seen so much tape in my life for one scene or fine here's some more I'll just Jesus Christ well Donovan must be given something to do that aligns with her abilities and intellect where the hell is the body oh oh oh bloody hell it looks like Molly just like Molly from this angle, the long hair, this particular shade of chestnut where's John at my side don't let him look talk to him first turn him around prepare him for the sight._

"John, look at me, don't -."

Too late. Sherlock looked to his friend who was frozen in place, staring at the body of this woman in her early thirties, medium to small stature, naked, lying on her side partly covered with rubbish and other street debris. Her slender neck was at an impossible angle for a living creature and her face, three quarters of which was in tact and visible, had large eyes and dainty, elfin features. But it was the long brown hair, cascading down her back, and partially obscuring her breasts, the same length, style and shade as Molly's that had made Sherlock see the resemblance, and which was probably transfixing John at that moment.

"John, it's not her."

"Oh, bloody hell, I hadn't thought of that, Sherlock, but you're right, you're right it does look just like -." Lestrade made the connection.

"Shut, up, for god's sake!" Sherlock snapped. Lestrade saw the resemblance immediately when prompted, though naturally enough hadn't thought of it before now, either to mention or to warn.

"Sorry. Ah, John? All right there?"

"Jesus fucking hell."

John felt the blood drain from his face and his whole body begin to shake. When was the last time he'd ingested anything fluid, he wondered? A man suddenly blocked his view of the girl.

_A dark coat, gripping my arms hard, holding me, moving me, where are we going, legs giving out, on the ground, oh, up again, ok, what are we doing of course it's not Molly, I just spoke to her on the phone, she's fine, she's at the morgue, why the fuck does she have to work at the morgue? I can support her, why is she there at all? Publish? Publish papers, going to work and what the fuck are we living in this godforsaken city for constantly investigating crimes, fucking murders it's absurd and us, the three of us what are we doing the three of us, what are we doing, are we going to continue to live in this insane limbo, this secret asocial love triad, keeping it a secret, living a lie of a life, for what, for god's sake, for god's sake, Molly should be having babies. Sitting down, now, are we, fine, that's fine, I've got to get her out of here, out of this filthy city._

"John? All right? Drink this, you didn't eat anything for breakfast. Molly? Oh, thank god, talk to John, here, no, he's fine, Molly, he's _fine_, he just needs to hear you, he's just had a little shock, all right, love? No, psycho_log_ical, _not electrical_. I'm with him, everything's fine. Just tell him _you're_ fine, yes, try not to ask questions, keep it simple -."

"_You're frightening me, Sherlock_." Molly had recognized the number and was apprehensive before picking up. Why was it Sherlock and not John calling her? Anyway, she'd just talked to John. Sherlock rarely called, only texted her.

"Don't be frightened, it's fine, I'll explain later, we'll see you later, all right, here's John."

"_John, love? Hullo? You there_?"

"Yeah? Molly?"

"_Yes, it's me, darling, are you all right_?"

"M'fine. Didn't I just talk to you?"

"_Yes, darling. I'm just fine, I'm at work, you know, right? I'm in the lab at the moment. Doing some crap paper work. It just builds up, you know? John_?"

"Yes, paper work. You're in the lab. Good."

"_Well, it's good for someone, I suppose. Will you be home at the usual time? John? Are we having take-out_?"

"Um, I dunno. I. Don't. Know. Sherlock?" John handed the phone to his friend and got up, wandering away from the car hood he'd been propped up against. He took a couple steps toward the river's edge, overlooking a particularly dramatic skyline view of the city.

"Thank you Molly, no I'm with him, I'll be with him, I swear to you. Later, honestly, everything's fine, sorry to worry you, later, all right? Good. Ok, bye." Sherlock ran to his friend's side, guiding him gently back to the police car. He noticed that his own hands were shaking, now, as he replaced the phone in his pocket. _That won't do._ He still had safeguards in place, barriers to emotion, and he used them now with definitive efficiency.

"John, we'll get you home. Will you stay here while I – while I talk to Lestrade? Don't wander off, all right? Just sit here a moment? Will you do that for me?"

"What? No, I'll come with you, I'll -."

"No, John, you'll distract me. You can appreciate that, yes? Stay here, now, please. Do _not_ wander off, or you will irritate me."

John wasn't used to the tone Sherlock was using. It harkened back to the two years they'd lived together when he'd first come back to London. It jolted him a bit back to reality, as he watched Sherlock's back recede, walking back toward the crime scene.

_What's happening? What just happened? Oh, the girl. Oh, yes, the girl looked like Molly, just like Molly, oh, bleeding bloody hell, yes, I see now, yes. Sherlock phoned Molly, he had me talk to her, she's at work, she's fine. Water?_

John took another sip from the bottled water he found he was still holding. How had he gotten this? Sherlock. He sipped again, then drained the bottle.

_And he took me away from her, from the girl in the rubbish heap, he blocked my view of her, and walked me away from it, got me water, gave me the phone. Ah, yes. Oh, fuck. What had I been thinking? What was I going to do, move away from London? Scarper off with Molly away from London and Sherlock? Ahaha. But that girl, that poor girl. Too late for her to make a move. Oh, god, I was in shock, wasn't I? Am still?_

John looked up to see Sherlock emerging from the enclosed crime scene stepping over, under and around the crime scene tape, with his focus trained fiercely on John's face, making a bee-line for him.

"Get in, John, this kind officer is taking us to the high street, and we'll get a cab."

"I'm fine, we can walk to the high-."

"Get in and don't argue." Sherlock held the door open and put his hand on John's head, as he ducked into the car. They got out at the high street, a five minute walk, John thought, and got straight into a cab, and Sherlock did the hand on head thing again, _how adorable,_ John thought, _just like the movies._

"I was-, I was in shock, a kind of shock, wasn't I?"

"Yes, you were, you may still be."

"So, where's my blanket? Ahaha."

"Mmm. Well, I got you water."

"Yes. You did. Thank you. Sherlock. I drank it. I drank it all." John looked at the plastic bottle still in his hand. The doctor took Sherlock's hand in his, rubbing the fingers with his thumb, holding tightly. _He did all that for me, out of worry for me, took care of me, gave me water, made me talk to Molly, and didn't think of himself at all, though he had as much at stake as I did, is he just not as susceptible to cues like, like that poor dead girl?_ "Thank you for that and -."

"John, it's all right. Almost there." Sherlock took his hand away from John, placing it on his own thigh. _Is he angry with me? No, just, vigilant, in protection mode, no nonsense. Is he taking me home? Is he taking me to Molly? No. What are we doing. Are we working on a case? Hold on, aren't we working on a case? Jesus Christ. _

"Sherlock?"

"John?"

"I'm still in shock aren't I?"

"I think so. Almost there."

_So dependable. He's so reliable, I can trust him and rely on him and he's – wait. He's mine somehow. He's mine and Molly's somehow, and I'm his, we're his and – Oh, god. Where are we? What the fuck are we doing? Good lord, I'm disoriented!_

"Ah, here we are," Sherlock paid the cabbie and hopped out of the cab, helping John to his feet. They were in the flat in a moment. Sherlock directed the doctor to his customary chair, where he seated John. Sherlock knelt down directly in front of him. The detective looked carefully into his friend's face, took his pulse, looked into his eyes, observed his pupil dilation, gauged his usual pallor.

"John, what day of the week is it?"

"Tuesday."

"Who is the prime minister?"

"I don't bloody know."

"John."

"Camera. -on. Cameron. David. _Compassionate_ conservative, for fuck's sake."

"Not now, John. What did you have for breakfast?"

"Bottled water you gave me at the crime scene."

Sherlock took a deep breath.

"What did you see at the crime scene?"

"Dead girl looked just like – oh, god, she looked just like Molly, didn't she?"

"Yes. I'm sorry you had to see it."

"Me, too. I mean I'm sorry _you_ had to see it. Sherlock."

_Oh, god he had to see it too, he had to look at her lovely hair and her naked skin under that garbage and what had happened to her face? What had happened to her at all? Who could do such a thing? And Sherlock went back and looked again, and looked closely, while I was sitting on the hood of the car in a useless daze. _

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock's hands, which had placed themselves on John's arms were now violently shaking. John took the man by the shoulders, kneading the muscles there, holding on hard. For himself, or his friend? He didn't know as he continued to grip the man with all his strength.

_You have given me so much, Sherlock, what can I do, what can I do to give something back to you, there's no way it will ever be fair. _

"It's all right," said John. "We're home. Molly's safe."

"Yes. I know. I know. Intellectually - _I_ _know_." Sherlock took a deep breath and was better.

John noted the speed with which his friend recovered.

"You are amazing, you -, no you are – formidable, Sherlock, you are." John reached a hand to his friend's cheek. _And you're quite beautiful too aren't you there's no use denying it there's no use your eyes and your skin and you belong to us to me and Molly and I -_

John couldn't think of a reason to wait another day. He leaned in to kiss his friend.

"Ah, ah." Sherlock said, and backed away.

John opened his eyes, which he had closed only a moment ago. He watched as Sherlock smiled his wicked half smile, and rose from his kneeling position before the doctor.

"Tea?" He called over his shoulder as he strode to the kitchen.

John's mind reeled. _Did this just happen? Did this just happen? _

John got up, a little unsteadily from the chair and followed Sherlock. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen.

"What? What did you just do? To me? Out there?"

"Hmm? Me? Nothing, John."

"I _know_. Why?"

"It would be quite unethical for me to take advantage of you in your current state. You're still in shock."

"_I'm fine_!"

"No, you're not, actually, but you will be, I can see." Sherlock pottered about a moment, smiling his smuggest smile then added, "Molly should be here for us, too, don't you think? Close your mouth, John, you look more intelligent that way."

John continued to take in what had just happened to him while Sherlock made tea. Then the detective swooped in close and whispered into John's ear in a tone he normally reserved for bed.

"_But it is extremely satisfying and lovely for me to know that you're finally interested in doing that with me, John, extremely gratifying. I don't think you can know how delightful I find it, thank you, love. And very fucking difficult to resist, I assure you. I can't wait to find out if you really mean it, or if it's just the shock talking_. _We'll see, hmm?_" Then Sherlock moved off. "I only have Earl Grey in, so-." He left the kitchen with a tray of tea, looking over his shoulder.

"Come on, John, don't let it get cold."

"You prat. You fucking _prat_." John husked out. The humiliation came now, red, fiercely burning, his ears itched, his face and neck were on fire. He hung his head and followed Sherlock into the sitting room.

"I heard that." Sherlock said, "That's all right, though, no offense taken. I completely understand your, ah, humiliation. And frus_tra_tion. Yes, that particularly." Sherlock was giggling now. "You should – haha – you should see your face, John. Oh no. Hmmhmm. A bit of your own medicine, Doctor? Is it bitter? Hmmhmm."

John said nothing, and took his cup of tea, exactly as he liked it, he had no doubt, from Sherlock's hands. He sipped, and sipped again before speaking.

"I'm going to have to punch you. I'm going to have to punch you very hard for this. Probably in the mouth. But I require tea."

"Yes, hmmhmm, of course. Cake or bread and butter? Hmmhmm."

* * *

**Hello, lovely fellow travellers! **

**Enjoy your coffee break – You won't need any sugar at the end of this one.**

**Oh, please review me, please? I'm dying to hear from you, yes, that's YOU!  
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**(Extra love if you tell me what famous work I'm quoting from in the last bits)**


	23. Humiliation and Frustration II (a first)

**Just wanted to follow up the last chapter with a little somethin' somethin'**

**Sweet fluffiness for three.**

**Humiliation and Frustration II: Kisses or Punches?**

John and Sherlock finished their tea in silence. Sherlock was positively smirking, but he was able to get a hold of himself sufficiently that he stopped actually giggling to himself, and John's color had returned to its usual British pallor. Sherlock set his cup down at length.

"Well. I have some reading I wanted to -."

"I'll clean this up," John offered, rising to pick up the tray, but Sherlock stopped him.

"I'd rather you just sat there for a while, John. Thank you. Here, let me just -" Sherlock said, directing the doctor back to his chair, then digging his fingers into his friend's shoulders.

"Ah, Sherlock, I'm not an invalid." But John let his head drop forward and allowed Sherlock to knead his shoulders.

"I can get the tray, hmm? I want you to just relax, all right? Just take it easy, and relax. Molly will be here in a couple hours, I'll ring and have her bring in some take-out, and we'll have an early night, shall we? Hmm? Nice and simple. Nothing fancy."

"I'm still going to punch you. Really, really hard. Maybe tomorrow."

"That's fine. You punch me tomorrow, that will be fine, I have nothing on tomorrow, so I'm all yours."

Sherlock finished rubbing down his friend, and removed the tea tray. When he returned to the sitting room, John had slouched down into the armchair and had his eyes closed, a hand to his brow. While the detective was fairly sure his friend wasn't asleep just yet, he returned to the kitchen to call Lestrade to avoid disturbing John. Sherlock got an update on the case. Things were at a standstill until some lab results were in. It wasn't a pressing matter, other than the fact of such a lovely young girl meeting such an untimely end, so Sherlock didn't hurry it along as he might have under different circumstances. He took the opportunity to immerse himself in a study of aphids he'd been wanting to get to for some time.

Molly came home some minutes before six with the take-out, and Sherlock met her on the stair while John continued to sleep, in his chair. Sherlock filled her in on what had happened that morning, including the dead girl. Sherlock watched as her eyes filled with horror, not for the fact that the young woman had looked like her, Sherlock knew, but in empathy for the poor girl. Molly, he knew was a sensible woman, and though quite emotional, she was a scientist who generally defied augury and relied on her senses and logic. He was glad he had the opportunity to tell her about the girl without John present, preferring to avoid a return to the events of the morning. Sherlock then quickly told her about how John, disoriented from his bit of shock, had waxed quite affectionately toward him, and tried to kiss him.

"And you didn't let him? Oh, you are so mean!" Molly laughed quietly as they went up the stairs together to the flat. Sherlock appreciated Molly's penchant for gentle mischief, and sometimes turned into quite the 13-year-old himself, when they were together.

"When will he be well out of danger? For the shock, I mean?"

"He's probably fine, now, but 12 to 24 hours is a good rule of thumb. He did pass out briefly, you know. Fell on some gravel."

"Oh my god. Is he hurt at all?"

"No, no, I promise you, though I didn't actually have a _look_ at his knees. Some scrapes on the fabric, absolutely no trauma to the head. I'm sure he's fine. Just sleeping tonight, ok?"

"Of course." Molly agreed but then fake pouted, "I'll just have to wake you up all the earlier in the morning, darling." Molly gently gripped Sherlock's backside with her free hand.

"That's fine, love, wake me any time you like." Sherlock pecked her on the cheek and took the take-away bags off to the kitchen to serve up the food.

Molly approached John's chair, and dropped to her knees before him as the doctor shrugged off sleep, having been roused somewhat by the sounds of Molly and Sherlock entering the flat. His legs were spread wide, and she knelt up between them, digging down, to wrap her arms around his waist as he sat in the chair. He took her face in his hands, smiling a sleepy smile.

"My darling sweet love – well, you seem ok?" Molly purred, and John drew her to him, until she was sitting in his lap.

"I am, love, I'm fine." He kissed her thoroughly, his hand already under her blouse when Sherlock poked his head out of the kitchen door, smiling.

* * *

Early in the morning, Sherlock woke to go to the loo, and returned to find John and Molly in an amorous embrace. _Ah, now maybe we can have some fun with the good doctor._ He slipped back into bed with his friends. John was just entering Molly as she whimpered and cooed to him. She lay on her back, and their movements were easy and lazy as Sherlock pulled in close to the pair. He aligned his head with Molly's and gazed up, smiling at his friend, as the pair moved against and into one another. John was only peripherally aware of Sherlock at first, and then he saw the expression in Sherlock's eyes: mischief and smugness. He continued to move against Molly as Sherlock reached up to John's nipple, and thumbed, it, then pinched it.

"Ah, what are you up to?" John smiled at his friend.

"I think you know, love," Sherlock reached down, and gripped John's bottom, squeezing a little harder than necessary.

"Oh, right. Ahaha." John remembered Sherlock's avowal to find out if it was just the shock talking when John had tried to kiss him the day before.

"So? Only interested in kissing me when you're in shock?" Sherlock reached up, stroking John's cheek, and pressed his thumb into the doctor's mouth. John sucked it, biting gently.

"Hmm. Interesting, Doctor." Sherlock pushed his thumb further in, exploring the inside of John's mouth, his tongue, his teeth, while John laved the thumb with his tongue, sucking. "Lovely, John."

"Hmmph," John was about to reach a plateau, Sherlock saw. Would he kiss him on his own, he wondered? Sherlock didn't even consider forcing the matter.

"John, love?" Sherlock removed his thumb and offered his neck to John who leaned down without further prompting, and kissed, and bit the skin. _Ah, good boy, very well trained._ Sherlock's breath drew more quickly at the touch, but now John was getting very close. Sherlock looked over at Molly who was watching this little drama unfold, smiling with her lips parted and wet, an enchanting vision as John fucked her into the sheets. Sherlock leaned over to kiss her, throwing an arm around John's shoulders, rubbing him.

"Come on, John, now's your chance, hmm?" Sherlock pressed his face closer to his friend, brushing his lips against his cheek, his chin, nipping the skin.

"You know you want to, love, hmm? I know _I_ want you to."

"Oh, god, Sherlock, ahaha, Molly, ah-," John was getting very close, but he was smiling and laughing, too, which was gratifying for Sherlock to watch in and of itself. But the detective was out of tricks. He sighed heavily and lay on his back with his head next to Molly's looking up into John's eyes. Sherlock was not able to hide a slight disappointment in his expression. He reached with his hand and ran his fingers through John's short hair as John and Molly came almost at the same time.

Sherlock was usually overcome by John's and Molly's lovemaking, and couldn't get close enough to them after they'd finished, touching them kissing them talking to them. But he felt a little differently, this time, a little out of place.

"Sherlock, love? All right?" Molly purred to him, reaching a hand to his cheek.

"Mmm," Sherlock said in answer. Then John came to himself a little, and pulled out of Molly, dropping down between his friend and wife in the bed.

"Oh, darling," Molly felt the loss of him as he left her body.

"It's all right, I'm here," John said, kissing Molly, but after only a minute, he turned his focus on Sherlock. He rose up on his elbows, and pinned his friend arms at his head. Sherlock was unprepared for an attack of this nature, and just let himself be captured.

"I promised you a punch, you idiot, didn't I?"

Sherlock chuckled, letting his head loll off the pillow in defeat.

"Yes, all right, John, punch me if you must. But make the blow glance a bit, there's not much room in the bed for my head respond to a blow so you'll have to –"

John stopped his friend's words by pressing his thumb into Sherlock's mouth, exploring his mouth gently as Sherlock had done earlier. The doctor watched as Sherlock's eyes closed, and John took in the sensations of his friend sucking and gently biting him, licking him with his tongue.

Molly had propped herself up on an elbow and was watching the pair. She couldn't see their faces very clearly, but their features were silhouetted perfectly by the dim light on the bedside table across from her. They were in perfect profile. She wished she could help them out in some way, but they would have to figure things out on their own, she knew. _He's going to do tonight, he's going to kiss him, I know it._

It was delicious to watch. She wondered if John liked it, the sensation of Sherlock sucking on his thumb, biting him no doubt. She watched Sherlock's mouth moving around John's thumb, and John smiling down at Sherlock, chuckling. He drew his thumb away from Sherlock's mouth, tracing the lines of his lips with his wet thumb, and then dipping his thumb in again, then thrusting tenderly a few times, fucking Sherlock's mouth with his thumb. Sherlock hummed quietly, and John was smiling. Then John drew his thumb away, and Molly felt herself grow faint as she watched her husband lean down and press his open mouth to Sherlock's, his tongue flicking quickly at Sherlock's upper lip, and then quickly pulling away. He stayed close, watching his friend's reaction. Sherlock's eyes snapped open, and he reached for John's face, involuntarily pulling him gently back, and John allowed it, flicking his tongue into Sherlock's mouth again, this time deeper, and pulling back slightly. Sherlock laughed, and John chuckled too, as he leaned in a again, flicking and pulling back. Sherlock waited then and lightly held John's face in his two hands, waiting, not wanting to push, waiting. At last, the doctor swooped in flicked, bit, kissed and licked Sherlock's lips in an attack that left Sherlock speechless and breathing hard. John stopped and looked down at his friend, Sherlock waited, his mouth open, waiting, waiting. Finally, John just sank down against Sherlock, chest to chest, his mouth melting against his friend's in a deep open mouthed kiss. Sherlock let out a long moan, which seemed to end in a whimper of relief as he clasped his friend to him, gripping him hard, their mouths melded together.

For the next half hour or so, Molly watched as the pair rolled back and forth in the bed in one another's arms, just kissing. From playful pecking and biting, to licking, to fully open mouths inseparable. At length, Molly giggled, and the two broke away from one another. Sherlock leaned over to her, kissing her.

"He kissed me, Molly, did you see?" Sherlock whispered, rolling Molly to her back, and quickly entering her. Then John was leaning over, kissing Molly.

"Did you watch us, Molly, sweetheart? Hmm?"

"Yes, I did, – ahh, darling - it was completely lovely, both of you."

"Mmm, come here, John."

John placed his head next to Molly's, and Sherlock leaned down to kiss him, then kissed Molly, then kissed John again. The three smiled and chuckled. Molly leaned her head in and stuck out her tongue, touching both men, all three entering into a mess of wet sloppy contact with lips and tongues. Then Molly backed off, as far as she could, as Sherlock started to thrust into her harder and with more heat. She watched as Sherlock leaned over to John while he remained still deep inside her and pumping her at a new and -_ oh - _very interesting angle. Sherlock didn't miss a stroke as he smiled predatorily at John then descended on him in a barrage of kisses that would have left Molly breathless, she thought. John moaned into Sherlock's mouth, a hand on his face, another stroking his own length.

"Mmm, John, wait for one of us, hmm? We want – ah, Molly, we want to be with you."

"Move up, love," Molly suggested.

"Oh, Molly, _Molly_ you are such an _interesting_ woman," Sherlock growled and thrust into Molly hard and fast for a few moments.

"Oh, god, yes," she said, responding, bucking and writhing beneath him.

"Yes, yes, John, move up, move _up,"_ Sherlock directed.

John arranged himself to accommodate the couple and Sherlock took his friend's cock into his mouth.

"That's a lot of work you're taking on, mate," John chuckled, sitting up on his elbows.

"Don't you think I can manage it?" Sherlock left John for a moment, smiling.

"Only you, love," Molly cooed, a little breathless at the sensations she was having both visually and physically as she watched Sherlock swallow down John's erection again. Coordinating his movements above and below, Sherlock set an easy pace for himself at first. He revelled in the sensations he was having, lovely Molly, her soft skin, her sweet love sounds, her naughty responses to his own movements, then John, the novelty of the taste of his skin, his sweat, his newly uninhibited behavior, his willingness, _his kisses._ Sherlock quickened his pace at the thought of kissing John again, even as he had his cock in his mouth, stroking the base of him with his hand, occasionally dipping his fingers to John's testicles, stroking them. Then he felt John's hands in his hair, rubbing his scalp, gently pulling his hair and Sherlock hummed his contentment and bliss.

"Oh, god, oh, shit -," John responded to Sherlock's humming.

Sherlock started to lose a bit of control, his rhythm becoming more erratic, more spasmodic. His uneven rhythm brought Molly to a plateau, and she started feeling as though the universe were breaking up into bits and pixels and wandering off somewhere on their own. She felt her body take over, bucking and shaking and she came as she clung to Sherlock, biting into his shoulder. John was pushed over the edge watching Molly come to her finale, bucking into Sherlock, releasing himself into his mouth. As John finished, Sherlock allowed himself to let go, his orgasm shaking his body so severely that Molly was a little afraid he was going to knock his head into her face again the way he had in the past, bloodying her nose and lip. But she was able to keep her head out of his way until he collapsed onto her, fully, unaware for the moment of whether he was crushing her or not. She secretly relished this rough treatment, it was in such contrast to John's loving and gentlemanly attentiveness, but she never said anything about it. She knew Sherlock knew she liked it. They had a secret smile for it.

The three lay for several minutes, speechless and panting and Molly started laughing, John and Sherlock joined her, as they found comfortable places for themselves, holding one another in bed. They continued chuckling and laughing, though wordless for several more minutes, pausing more and more often, until the chuckling was over, and they each signed a satisfied sigh.

* * *

Morning. When John woke he found himself looking into Sherlock's eyes, which were open and sparkling in what little morning light was in the room.

"So? Are you – going to punch me today?" Sherlock asked, a soft smile on his lips.

"Hmm. No, I don't think so. Not today." John clasped his hand to the back of his friend's neck, and kissed him unreservedly.

* * *

**I realize this isn't everyone's favorite ship, but if you did like it, please let me hear from you!**

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	24. Mycroft Finds Out 032413

_**(if it ain't your ship: sorry to offend)**_

_**It had to happen eventually.**_

_**Mycroft tries to lay down the law, but his real objective is something simpler.**_

_**Angst, then sweetness and tea.**_

* * *

**Mycroft Finds Out**

_Poisonous. The air is poisonous. Can't breathe. Can't find air. Dying. Dying soon, if I can't get out of this car with Mycroft. Friday afternoon Molly's shift is done earlier than usual. John and Molly. Molly and John. John is going to be done early today too get away from Mycroft as soon as possible 221B is just a cab ride away now._

* * *

Sherlock was having one of his meetings with his brother about various family concerns in which he had to participate sporadically upon pain of death, or so Mycroft would have it. It was just Sherlock and Mycroft, the Holmes brothers in one of Mycroft's cars. Sherlock felt trapped as always in the car. He wasn't even able to roll down a window. He was getting hot. _Please, please set me free._

"Right here, is fine, Mycroft." Sherlock sensed that the meat of the discussion had been attended to.

"Not at all, I'll drop you at your door," said Mycroft.

"I'd really rather you didn't. Here is fine." The car didn't stop. "Or here." Sherlock sighed. "Or here."

"There is one last small matter, brother." Mycroft had been thinking of how to introduce the next topic of conversation.

"Mycroft, oh fine. What?"

The elder Holmes wrinkled his nose at the distaste he had for the topic, but couldn't supress a personal notes of glee, either. Glee of many different stripes.

"It's come to our attention that you're, ah, having an affair with John's wife." Mycroft let the bomb fall and do its damage. He waited for the air to clear, the dust to settle and watched his brother for any signs that would give any shred of further information. He would give it all up eventually, he know. Candy from a baby. He spoke again.

"Except for the fact that it's not a very auspicious beginning, might I offer my – congratulations?"

Sherlock froze. How much did Mycroft actually know? Was this his way of telling him he knew about the three of them?

_Congratulations? Does the moron actually think I've been a virgin this whole time? does he really think that - England must be in terrible trouble how stupid and uninformed can he be or is he just having the old go or is he trying to get information or is he just the same old idiot. _

Or did he really only know that he was sleeping with Molly, and if he knew that, how did he _not_ know he was also sleeping with John? The hospital. He'd been seen with her at Bart's. _Start innocently. Reveal nothing._

"Oh? Where on earth do you get that sort of information?" Sherlock looked out the window.

Mycroft pulled out a parcel of photos from the inner pocket of his coat and offered them to Sherlock, who opened them. They were stills of security video from St. Bart's in Molly's office area. _Oh, for god's sake, poor Molly, to be so exposed._ Mercifully there seemed to be no pictures of the morgue or John.

"Is that all?" Sherlock set the pictures in their packet on the seat between himself and his brother.

"Oh there's more, is there? Wonderful, Sherlock, well done. We'll find it, if there is, I assure you. What on earth are you doing? Does John know?"

"That's none of your business." Sherlock spat out and immediately regretted it. _Too much, you expose too much with him, all the time. Reveal nothing. _

"Oh, I see. John _knows_. How interesting. He knows about this, this - So it's amicable? Mutually – ah -?." Mycroft tried to imagine the arrangement.

"Look, brother dear, this doesn't concern you at all, does it? This doesn't affect any secrets of state or the crown jewels, does it?"

"I'm only concerned for your well being, Sherlock. John has been the closest thing to a friend I think I've ever seen you have, and I'd prefer to keep him in place where -."

"John is not a _pawn_ in your game to keep current infor_ma_tion on me or -."

"Sherlock, please forgive my poor choice of words. I know he's not a pawn." Mycroft paused. "I actually _want_ you to have a friend if you can imagine such a thing. That's all I mean."

"Your concern is heartbreaking."

"But you won't have any - John or anyone if you keep-."

"Mycroft, let it penetrate, please? None of your business. You don't know anything about John and Molly and –." _Too much. You've said too much, you idiot. _

"Oh." Said Mycroft. "Good _lord_! Are you saying – Wait a moment,do you mean to tell me - _Both. Of. Them?_" Mycroft pressed his finger tips to his temples, pressing hard.

"Both of them? You're sleeping with _both_ of them? Is – is John _sleeping_ with you? Are you sleeping with _John_?"

Sherlock looked out the window while Mycroft's head exploded between his hands. "Is there _nothing_ you will not do to cause a scene? To provoke me?"

"This may be difficult for you to believe, but _you_ did not come into any discussion of the matter at any time."

"And when did this -? How long have you been sleeping with John's wife, _and John?_"

"Once again, Mycroft, and I regret being so repetitive and such a bore, but it's none of your business."

Mycroft closed his eyes and shook his head. John, he knew, was a good man, somewhat scruffy and scrappy, but certainly intelligent enough with a strong moral code as well as an unshakable though, unfathomable loyalty to Sherlock. _Well, now, perhaps not so unfathomable._ John would have married a reasonable woman, he supposed of Molly, though he knew nothing of her, really, but for a chance meeting or two at Bart's. _Ah, yes, she had had a rather particular interest in Sherlock that Christmas at the morgue. _But there were serious matters to consider besides just Sherlock's immediate happiness. There was Sherlock's estate, and potential _heirs_ to consider and this kind of arrangement would complicate matters, potentially horrifically.

"This kind of bohemian arrangement, however it's constructed, whatever agreements have been made –"

"Oh, _god,_ Mycroft!"

"You should end it with both of them, of course. At once. For the sake of all involved. Please don't force me to take certain steps that will -," Mycroft chanced to look up and see the look in Sherlock's eyes. He hadn't seen it since his brother's earliest childhood. Unmasked fear and pain. It stopped Mycroft from continuing and there was a silence in the car for a moment. Mycroft could see that his brother was trying to compose himself.

"If you knew how that would end the lives of three people, you wouldn't suggest it. If you knew, Mycroft how it would affect _me_, I think, if you had any idea -." Sherlock said quietly without rancour. Mycroft was taken completely off guard by Sherlock's seeming candour and brimming emotionalism.

"Oh." The elder brother held back his planned threats and other venomous barbs. Only one slipped out.

"Really, Sherlock. Caring is not an advantage," Mycroft said. The adage fell flat, however. They both knew it pointed to a deep sense of failure that each of them held close to the vest regarding their miserable personal involvements. Mycroft's had been no more successful than Sherlock's, but they had each hidden behind intellectual superiority and an adopted aloofness to ride out the loneliness.

But now, Sherlock had found people, Mycroft saw. His tribe, however small. The mantra that they had managed to share was rendered useless. A twinge of jealousy made itself known, but Mycroft cast it aside immediately. Or, perhaps it made him do something he didn't think he'd ever do again. Something he hadn't done in years. He once again donned the mantel of the elder sibling. The responsible one. The caring one. He knew, however, that he would probably pay for it in the end, he would regret his forbearance, now. Sherlock's quaking, vulnerable expression was beginning to change back to a mask, as Mycroft formed his response to his brother's upset.

"Well. Quite, ah, in_volv_ed, is it? Well, for heaven's sake, it would be, wouldn't it? I see." _He's in love. Which one?! Or is it even more complicated...? _

"Sherlock, good lord. All right. Good lord. _Which_ one are you, ah, particularly involved with?"

"Please let me out here, Mycroft, _please._" Sherlock begged, his face turning pink, but then said nothing further. _Too much, too much again. _

"_Both_ of them? You're in love with both of them?" Mycroft's head spun as imagined the rest of it.

Sherlock's head hung, his pale hands gripping his knees, a tremor still visible in them.

"Oh," Mycroft continued to deduce. "Then you are - you're _sleeping_ with both of them and _at the same time. _Aren't you?" Mycroft mercifully stopped talking and there was a long silence in the car as each brother, shaken to the core, tried to regain some kind of composure.

It was strange, Sherlock thought, to see how the relationships that brought him such happiness would be viewed by the outside world: dirty, incomprehensible, unacceptable, to be ended at once. For the first time in his life he had love, and emotional safety from people who loved and trusted him, a family, a real family. But their arrangement couldn't be called a relationship or a marriage or a union. And while he didn't begrudge John and Molly belonging to one another legally, he sometimes couldn't get over how left out he was in the arrangement, if only on a societal level, a legal level. While on the other hand his connection to goddamned Mycroft was ever to be accepted, revered.

The brothers sat silently, and Mycroft considered. He knew that his brother had had a difficult time trusting anyone either as a child, a youth or an adult. All those various and sundry diagnoses from different doctors hadn't helped him to understand who was on his side, either. And through it all he had never really had any kind of a friend. Mycroft had tried to be friendly and helpful, but he'd long ago given up, having been rejected at every turn. But in the end, if Sherlock had actually found people who offered – _but what, what do they offer in such an arrangement? _Mycroft wondered. But if they did offer affection, kindness, safety, _love? _and a brand that Sherlock were somehow able to accept and even _return_? That would be a neat trick. _And I would be grateful, _thought Mycroft, _so grateful - _ And if Sherlock had indeed found these things, who was Mycroft to proscribe such an alliance, however unconventional it might seem to him? _But for the love of god! No it won't do to lose my temper. _

"All right. All right." Mycroft spoke carefully. "I see that this - association– makes you – happy – for the moment?"

Mycroft looked to his brother, and saw a particular version of his mask of control with which he was fairly familiar.

"Really, Sherlock, this arrangement is highly - ."

"Obviously." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Damn it, Sherlock!" There was quiet in the car again before Mycroft continued.

"I'll tell you this. I will investigate this further and be, ah, vigilant." Sherlock said nothing, and they rode in silence for some moments before Mycroft spoke again.

"I realize the world – changes - as we breathe. But there are certain matters that still must be attended to."

"My private life -,"

"_Private_ life? To have a private life you have to have discretion, for god's sake, _discretion_ -," Mycroft added, picking up the packet of photographs, snapping them once or twice in the air.

"These are not any kind of indication that you understand the word. You're not a child anymore! Do you actually _care_ for these people to put the girl in such a position? Oh my god, abso_lut_ely no pun intended. You surely knew there would be security cameras in a public place like a hospital." Mycroft flipped the photographs to his brother's lap in disgust. Sherlock picked them up from the seat, where some of them had spilled, and from his lap, arranging them carefully, regretting deeply that he had been the author of their existence. He put the pictures in his breast pocket.

"Is – Will her superiors – that is -? Will her job be in any jeopardy? "

"A little late for that line of thinking, don't you agree?" Mycroft paused for affect but added. "No, no, we've had everyone killed." Mycroft made a hand gesture with a flourish, and Sherlock knew that while no one had actually died, more than one or two might have been sacked, or repurposed, the photographs were in safe keeping, and no one further would find out about them. But Mycroft's response had been one of the brothers' half-joking code phrases from an earlier time. An easier time when things were still slightly less than hostile between them. Sherlock looked up, but quickly looked away, still ashamed of his behavior.

How had his brother come to this? the elder brother wondered. Before he'd gone on his mission he had been - _of course, the time away, something had gotten to him, broken him down. _His connection to John had been hard for him to sever for such a long time. This emotionalism claimed him somehow when Moriarity's network had been incapacitated.

"In any case." Mycroft took a deep breath. _Only one thing to do in this case. Only one thing to do. Try to help him. Try to make him happy. _

"In any case. I- I promise you that I will – keep an open mind," Mycroft sighed. After a moment, Sherlock spoke.

"I - appreciate that," Sherlock barely spoke above a whisper, and Mycroft nearly fell onto the floor at hearing his younger brother proffer the closest thing to a 'thank you,' he had ever heard from him. The car stopped in front of 221B and Sherlock lunged out the door.

_Still such a child, _thought the elder brother as the car pulled away. _Just remain vigilant and – do what I can to help him. That is, if he'll ever let me. _

* * *

Molly and John knew perfectly well the kind of state that Sherlock was likely to come home in after his meeting with Mycroft. In the past, whenever Sherlock had to deal in person and alone with his brother, John and Molly tried to talk to him, get information out of him about what the trouble was exactly, to no avail. Sherlock would be wholly mute no matter what question was put to him having to do either with the meeting he'd just endured, or his childhood, or even Mycroft specifically, and so the pair gave it all up and took a different route. They made sure to be home together on the days that Sherlock would be coming back from the meetings. Molly would make tea, and John would investigate the scotch supply and put out glasses in case something stronger were required, and they would chat together while Sherlock decompressed, usually silent and in a foetal position on the sofa. Finally, Molly would gently approach the sofa and speak his name. She'd sit down next to him, stroking his hip or leg, and he'd finally sit up and take her in his arms, and just hold her. John would sit close by and sip his tea and chatter about something trivial and the moment would pass.

Today John and Molly had tea set out with sandwiches and some cookies Molly had just finished, so the place smelled of baking. She had also brought flowers into the place, and opened the curtains to let in the afternoon's light. When Sherlock stepped into the flat, he was immediately calmed, though the bright light wasn't exactly fitted to his current mood, as he wanted to burrow and die. He looked at his friends who were seated, John in his chair and Molly in Sherlock's, but they didn't move, so he approached them, a hand in his hair. The pair seated knew this was a very bad beginning.

"Ah, not good. Very much not good. I'm sorry, I- I don't know how to -."

Sherlock paused, his lank frame a straight line, his fingers steepled under his chin, his face gazing heavenward. He might have been a model for any number of sculptures of the saints, Molly thought.

"What is it, love?" Molly asked.

"Um. Well. Mycroft _knows_. About us. About the three of us."

John and Molly looked to one another.

"How? How-, how did he find out?" Molly asked.

"Um. Well, that's just it, Molly, um. _Oh_, Molly, I'm sorry, so sorry. Some rather incriminating security pictures."

"What? He found the morgue pictures? Good lord."

"No, uh – Molly and me, but, oh, god, mostly Molly." Sherlock reached for the packet of pictures and handed them to John, who happened to be closer. He flipped through them.

"Jesus, Sherlock. Molly. Oh, god, _Molly_. Ahaha. Darling, you should -."

Molly hopped up to John's chair, looking down at the pictures. She turned a bit red, then giggled.

"Oh, god," she said. "Um, who has access to these? That is, my boss? Any of my co-workers?"

"No, no, love, nothing like that at all. All evidence of these will have been wiped out from the hospital, but these physical pictures, and I must assume another set of copies are in Mycroft's personal keeping. He also assured me that you have nothing to fear with regard to your job. At Bart's, that is."

"So, we're – we're safe, really, aren't we? Other than the fact that Mycroft has now seen me _inflagrante_. Interesting. Well, all in the family."

"Ahaha." said John. He licked his lips, rubbed an ear with one finger, and craned his neck forward, then pursed his lips mightily. Molly wondered if he would continue to tick like a madman, or just get a hold of himself.

"How did he find out - about me?" John asked.

"Well, that's - um, he guessed."

"He what? He _guessed_?"

Sherlock was loath to use the word, but felt he had to in this case.

"He _deduced_."

"From you? And what you said?"

"Yes. You've seen him. And, yes, we are brothers, he - he knows me. He had many years of observing me as I - grew up. It is one of the most intolerable - ." Sherlock stopped himself going on.

"I see. Well, what, um – what does he say about – the matter? Sherlock?" John managed.

John hoped that Sherlock wouldn't have a fit of mute brooding now, when the three of them really needed to discuss this further.

He continued to stand, almost at attention, almost as if to submit himself to a formal dressing down. He clenched one hand in his hair, sometimes two, and fairly spat his words out of tensely gripped jaws. He didn't seem to realize his manner was in stark contrast to the audience before whom he appeared – loving caring friends who would accept him no matter what pile of crap he handed them.

"He – at first he wanted me to - well, to end it - immediately."

The three were quiet, the suggestion of a break up alive in the air around them.

"But, he finished the conversation with quite, quite a-." Sherlock was battling with himself emotionally, his friends saw, and they waited for him. "He must have seen my – my hmm, extreme disinclination to – ah to do any such thing."

John imagined Mycroft taking in an emotionally full Sherlock and chuckled inaudibly.

"In the end," Sherlock continued, "he said he promised to keep an open mind. Those were his words. 'An open mind.'"

After a moment, John and Molly breathed a deep breath.

"Ah." John said. "Well, Mycroft has been a man of his word, at some point, in his life - I imagine."

John was clearly bristling at the role Mycroft had played in delivering his brother into Moriarity's sick game which had resulted in Sherlock faking his death. Sherlock and Molly knew that he'd prefer to keep the man far from their lives.

"We'll have to be vigilant. And be a little more discrete, hmm? Ahaha."

"That's precisely what Mycroft said." Sherlock smiled.

"Well, no permanent damage done. None, that I can see," Molly said. "At least as it seems to me." Molly put a hand on Sherlock's arm to assure him she wasn't in any kind of difficulty over the existence of the pictures or that Mycroft had seen them.

"I also think, Sherlock," John began, "we have to accept that this kind of exposure was bound to happen eventually. Hmm. Wrong choice of words? Ahaha." He took the pictures of Molly and Sherlock, and held them, taking custody. He shuffled through them again.

"These pictures, though, you really can't tell who you are at all, Sherlock, and Molly's face is just a blur. The eye goes to the – well the various interesting things that one looks for when one is – Ah, you have lovely breasts, Molly, love. I'll stop talking now. Ahaha."

Despite trying to keep things light, John could see that Sherlock was still struggling. It was clear that it was a matter that had only a little to do with the pictures, and the exposure of their secret relationship, and much more to do with a lifetime of animosity and distrust between the Holmes brothers.

"I have no _privacy_ from the man," Sherlock's teeth were gritted, and his hand swiped his hair out of his face for the umpteenth time. "I never, ever have." Sherlock began to pace.

"Are there cameras or bugs in the flat, Sherlock?" John asked.

"He wouldn't dare. No, I would know. I check constantly."

"What about our flat, love?." Molly asked.

"Interesting. I'll have a look. I've been meaning to look into your security in general since I broke in that morning."

"Well, we're hardly ever there." Molly shrugged and smiled.

"Sherlock," said John, and Sherlock looked up, his tone was so definitive.

"Hmm?"

"I don't care," John looked up at his friend, and reached out and took him by the wrist. "Let them take their pictures."

"Don't leave me out, I want to be in the picture!" Molly added.

"Molly, greedy! You're already in the pictures about as much as you can be!" John kissed his wife.

Sherlock chuckled, and let John hold his hand for another moment, and then allowed Molly to put her arms around him but then he had to step away.

"I—ah, appreciate that you're not bothered, I really am. I'm terribly sorry about this – breach –I'm sorry, Molly, it's completely my fault. But, as you might surmise, – ah – I just need a few moments. If you don't mind." He turned and walked out of the room to his bedroom and closed the door.

John and Molly looked at one another.

"I don't know," said John.

"If it were me?" asked Molly.

"I'd follow you, I wouldn't leave you alone with it," said John. "If it were me?"

"I don't know, I might leave you for a while to sort yourself out. Then check on you in an hour or so."

"Split the difference? Half hour, then," John sat in his chair, and Molly nodded and then reclined on the sofa.

* * *

_Flowers she's put flowers in here how potentially nauseating and she's pulled the curtains I need it dark damn it these sheets are clean the air is fresh she's done all this or he has they love me I love them why can't Mycroft go die somewhere under some rock somewhere so I don't have to know about it no no no I know he means well oh Christ who's taught me to think in such sickening platitudes Molly no doubt or John the two the pair my lovely couple but it's not private any more a matter of public fucking record if Mycroft knows about it has pictures of it public fucking record it was supposed to be our sweet secret no John is right take the picture take the fucking picture who cares in the end it doesn't matter to the world only to us only to us only let us be let us live let me live my life why can't they leave me alone why can't Mycroft leave me alone?_

Sherlock chuckled. He was being childish and selfish again, he knew. This silly pouting in private. When he could be with them, they were right here, in the flat, waiting for him to get over his mood. The matter was only about himself and Mycroft, in the end. He would have to learn to get past Mycroft's meddling, it would always be present as long as he lived. And it was a _kind_ of attention, after all, Sherlock chuckled again in self recognition.

So nothing's really changed, despite the humiliation, the sense of being caught out at Mycroft's guessing at the arrangement of the three. In fact, Sherlock mused, it's not so bad. Mycroft would protect John and Molly more assiduously than before, Sherlock knew, despite his moral misgivings about their association. The trouble only lay in himself, the detective had to admit. 'Get over your childhood nonsense and grow up,' he heard himself say aloud, though only in a whisper. He breathed a deep breath.

There was a knock at the door. Sherlock smiled.

"Come," he called, and Molly and John popped their heads in, grinning.

"Are you finished pouting?" John asked.

"Come here," Sherlock's hands were clasped behind his head in the pillow, and he closed his eyes as Molly and John clamoured onto the bed and put their arms around him. Molly pulled up his shirt and blew a raspberry on him, and Sherlock chuckled.

"You're like a bad kid, aren't you?" John tutted.

"No, he isn't, he's like everyone else. When you go home there's no escape from the childhood labels. Go out in the world, work a job in your field, win the Nobel prize, become a doctor, _marry_ a doctor -."

"Ahaha."

"No matter what, same thing over and over again within the family," Molly finished.

"Hmm, interesting, Molly, but I do object to your phrase, 'he's like everyone else.'"

Molly beamed. Whenever Sherlock told her he found an opinion of hers to be interesting, she knew he meant it and she took it as a compliment.

"But seriously," John continued, "When one is of certain years, surely-."

"No, not really, John," said Molly, "Not within the immediately family. I can't believe I have to tell you this. What am I thinking. Haven't you always, _always_ taken care of Harry? In a manner of speaking?"

"Hmm. Yes, I suppose you're right. Yes, it's true, in a way."

"Well, " Molly said at length, addressing Sherlock, "What can we do, love? Hmm? Let us help."

"You're doing it." Sherlock smiled as John sat at his side, and Molly molded herself to his torso, her arms around him. She ran a hand under his shirt, just petting him, and kissed his neck. Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her, kissing her hair. He felt John stretch out in the bed next to him, now and with his eyes still closed, Sherlock felt fingers run through is hair, and lips, John's lips, kissing him ever so lightly. John kissing him was still so new and wonderful, it took Sherlock's breath away again, and he gasped a little as he opened his eyes.

"Yeah, we're still here," said John as Sherlock looked into his friend's open smiling face. "Well, love, do you need more time by yourself, or would you like your tea, now?"

"Hmm. Tea, thanks. Yes, tea."

* * *

_**Would love some feedback, if you're liking it!**_

_**It's not everyone's ship, I realize, so I'll try to stop being so needy :-D**_

_**(even tho' I sooooo still am! pleeeese review me!)**_


	25. Kissing John - II - Molly's Home 03271

**Well, sorry I'm so late, but it's still Wednesday where **_**I**_** live! **

**It turned out to be a bit longer than I thought it would be, so it took a little longer. **

**Hope you like it!**

**In which Sherlock confesses some things to John**

**John confesses some things to Sherlock**

**then Molly joins them.**

* * *

Kissing John – II- Molly's Home

John's pace on the street some blocks from Sherlock's flat was moderate but he had no hesitation. He carried a bag of curry take-out for him to share with Sherlock and Molly. Dinner, some TV, and then some reading and an early night, he supposed, as none of them had anything particular planned for their bedtime. But John knew that each one of them would be excited about tonight, it was to be their first all together after some few days, about a week of evenings in which one or two of them had been home quite late to bed. Molly had been filling in at odd shifts at Bart's for a co-worker with an illness, and Sherlock and John had been working a case that required a lot of legwork late into the evenings. It had been a fairly uninspiring case, but there had been a lot of work that had gone into it, so there was a satisfaction in their finishing it together. Today their schedules were back to normal, at last and this was the first afternoon John would be coming in at his usual time, around five o'clock, before Molly came round at about six. It was the time when Sherlock would sometimes obsess about him, John thought, and smiled to himself. He knew Sherlock would be doing that today, and he was eager to see him again this afternoon, their first afternoon after John had initiated their first kiss.

John reflected as he walked, the London air, though redolent with diesel as ever, invigorated him. Since initiating the kiss with Sherlock he had certainly felt more in control of things in bed with his friend and wife. It wasn't that important to him to be the leader of what was going on, but he liked to think that at least he himself knew what he wanted in bed. But he had known before, just hadn't been able to act on it. Why had he waited so long, to kiss, to hold his friend, he wondered? _No, no,_ he thought, _don't second guess it. Things were unfolding as quickly or as slowly as they needed to – just let it take it's time, take it's course, no need to push, no need make things other than what they are. _John walked on.

_What am I, now? _A voice from long ago pushed to the present and asked him. An inner voice, a voice from childhood and youthful uncertainties. _What am I?_ _Married man, a medical doctor, wounded in the service of my country. Oh, yes, but what else, hmm? _His thoughts couldn't seem to take the next step. _Something else? Anything else? I don't know. I don't know. _Was it so important to have a definition for his relationship with his friend when it made them both so happy? All three so happy? It made Molly happy, too, that everyone was equal and happy in bed. No. It's not important. I have enough labels I can cling to without having to put one on this relationship, too. It is what it is, and it feels so good.

John paused outside the door at 221B Baker Street. He was a little nervous about seeing Sherlock. How obsessed would he be? What lengths would they end up going to this afternoon before Molly got home? Would he himself initiate something just to put the question aside? He didn't know, he didn't have a plan as he climbed the stairs, a little breathless, and not just from his walk, or his climb to the second floor. _Let it just be what it will be,_ he thought, and he entered the flat.

John immediately saw Sherlock on the sofa, seated, leaning forward, his head in his hands. If he'd noticed John coming in, he didn't show it. He looked ruined as if he'd had some terrible news. John put the packages down immediately, and went to his friend.

"Is Molly all right?" John asked.

"Yes, of course, why -? Oh, I see, I'm sorry, no, nothing's wrong – ah – I'm just -."

"Well, what is it? You seem completely undone."

"Oh, I didn't get any work done today."

"Oh, well – ."

"And I've got a migraine."

"Ah – I can give you some -."

"No, no, it's just the visual type, nothing extraordinary, not very much pain, really, just inconvenient. And I have rather a bad stomach at the moment."

John stepped up close to his friend, and put his hand in his hair, and Sherlock immediately took hold of John's wrist, stroking the pad of his thumb along the skin.

"It's because I've – I've been thinking –of you all day, of this moment."

"You made yourself sick thinking of _me_ all day?"

"Yes. Well – sorry, yes, I think I did."

"Well, I'm sure you're the first who's ever had their entire day ruined thinking of me."

Sherlock didn't respond, but didn't let go of John's hand.

"Did you - have anything to drink today, love? Any water, tea?"

Sherlock considered.

"Hmm, no, no, I guess not."

John turned and went into the kitchen and quickly fetched a bottle of water and brought it back to Sherlock who drank a couple sips.

"Can you drink half of it for me, please?" John asked a question that wasn't a question, and Sherlock complied.

John sat next to his friend, toed off his shoes, and stretched out on the sofa. Sherlock looked at him. John patted his chest in an invitation and then held out his arms.

"Come on. Lie on me, put your arms around me. Let me pet your head."

Sherlock smiled and put the water down on the table. He draped himself across John's chest, his arms around his neck and torso, and John put his hands in his friend's hair. Their very new, but very comfortable starting point reassured and satisfied both men deeply. John felt Sherlock squeeze him hard, almost squeezing all the air out of him, then he let out a contented sigh and relaxed into the embrace, the tension easing out of him bit by bit. John also breathed deeply into their hold, then stroked Sherlock's hair, rubbing his scalp. They stayed this way for some time, John stroking Sherlock's back, Sherlock stroking John's abdomen.

"John."

"Mmm?"

"If I can't – if I can't get work done because of – ."

"Hey, you know what?" John said, "When a thing begins, like this, between us, and the three of us, and it's still pretty new, yeah?"

"Mmm?"

"This can happen. You can waste a day easily – thinking things that probably seem ridiculous to you now, I'm sure."

"Very ridiculous." Sherlock agreed.

"But it doesn't last forever. That's why they call it a honey_moon_."

"I haven't eaten that much in the last few days, John, but if you continue using that sort of vocabulary, I'll lose it all over your wretched jumper."

"Well, fair enough. Look, I'm just trying to tell you that this sort of emotional upset, and even obsession, the way you're manifesting, is very common when an emotional attachment commences. But it has a limited life, and things get back to normal. It only lasts a little while." John tried to make things as clinical as possible for Sherlock's benefit.

"Oh. Yes, of course." Sherlock seemed to consider. "Well, that seems - reasonable. Do you think so, things will get back to – Because I need to study and do my – my work. I can't work like this, this is insane. All I did, _all_ I did, all day was think of you and Molly and the physical things I want to do with you. And Molly. All day. That was all I did. That was quite literally all I did. And, I find I have to say it over and over like this because I cannot, I _cannot_ believe it. I ruined four tests in the kitchen by leaving them alone. Four months worth of work, in one case. And I – I really don't even give a damn."

"Yes, it will pass. I promise you." said John, "But, I'm looking forward. To those things – you thought of doing – with us?."

Sherlock turned his head and John was again surprised by the sudden proximity of Sherlock's face to his own. He smiled reassuringly at Sherlock and stroked his friend's cheek. Sherlock did look fairly green and worn out, John thought, but his expression was a little more hopeful and relaxed than when John had first gotten home. John ran his thumb lightly along Sherlock's lips, tracing the outline of his mouth. Sherlock opened his lips and took the finger into his mouth with a slow movement of lips and tongue. Sherlock's eyes closed, as he bit and sucked John's thumb, moaning his contentment. John moved his thumb in and out, gently fucking Sherlock's mouth like before, rubbing the thumb against his tongue, stroking the roof of his mouth, feeling his teeth. He slowly removed his thumb and traced his friend's lips again with his wet thumb. Then Sherlock was on him, kissing him and kissing him.

Slow and tender, ferocious, almost brutal and everything in between: when Sherlock was done, John's lips were raw. _Is that blood I taste?_ John wondered. After his initial onslaught, Sherlock couldn't let the doctor go, however, and held his head gently, lightly kissing his lips, his cheeks, his chin, his eyes.

"Sorry – did I -?" Sherlock began between gentle caresses.

"No, no, it's lovely, you're lovely," John realized he'd had his hands in his friends hair the whole time, hanging on for dear life, stroking him, and pulling on his locks gently. Sherlock pulled back a moment to look at John without letting go of his face. The two looked into one another's eyes for some moments.

"John, can you -?"

"Hmm? What?"

"I know I take over - sometimes, I'm sorry – but can you -?"

"What, love?"

"Can you kiss me?"

"I've just _been_ kissing you."

"John, I don't mean to complain, I love it, but I believe _I_ was kissing _you_. You were kind of hanging on, no?"

John was a little flustered and confused, but he forgot his self consciousness as he took in Sherlock's changing demeanour. He was becoming bashful before the doctor's eyes. He turned a little red, and lowered his eyes, he seemed younger and more vulnerable suddenly. _How does he do that? _Then he lowered his voice, but made sure John could hear him by whispering directly in his ear.

"I need you to – take control – of it. Can – can you?"

"Oh, I see," John said, and gripped Sherlock's upper arms, forcing him vigorously but without violence against the back of the sofa. John then took his friend's jaw in his hand, and tilted his head at just the angle he wanted. He licked and sucked Sherlock's lips with such authority that Sherlock forgot to breathe, and had to gasp for air. John smiled, but wasn't finished, pushing his tongue into Sherlock's mouth, lapping at his lips and tongue, then nipping and biting a little harder. Finally, he deepened the kiss, forcing Sherlock's mouth wide a hand in his friend's hair all the time, his other hand finding a way into Sherlock's shirt, caressing and kneading him. He gently broke away and looked down at Sherlock, who was beneath him now. _When did that happen?_ His friend opened his eyes, still glazed over, and smiled lazily.

"_Yes_, _Captain_." Sherlock purred. Then he lowered his voice again, and whispered hot and wet in the doctor's ear. "Do you think of me, John?" he asked.

"Do I think of -? What do you mean?"

"Do you, ah - _imagine_ us together, physically?"

"Oh, I -."

"Do you? Oh, god, John, what do you think of? Please tell me?"

John considered not answering, considered getting up and walking off, but the expression in his friend's eyes was so vulnerable and sweet and needy, he couldn't. _He's been sitting here all day, thinking about us, about me - like a kid. _ He thought. _How can this not be affecting him? _The case, John reflected had gone perfectly, without a hitch. If anything Sherlock had been more on target than ever. He always had one or two misses, but for this case there were none. Granted it was a simple case, but he'd been masterful again. _But he's experiencing love as a child_. _I can't hide from him, it would be cruel. And after all, I want to tell him – I do. _John spoke.

"Yes, - ah, I do, actually – think of us together – I'm a - ."

"Yes?" Sherlock waited for more, but the doctor couldn't find the words fast enough. "It's ok. But you do? You do think of us, together?" Sherlock's voice was filled with hope, it killed John to hear. He responded honestly.

"Yes, I do."

"Ok." Sherlock was breathing a little harder, the doctor noted. But then, he noted that he was also breathing harder. Sherlock continued, his words spilling out hot and fast as he half whispered them.

"Ok. Because, I thought of making love to you all day, all day, and then you and Molly together, and then, just fucking Molly and then just us. A lot. All day. I had to – ah, re_lieve_ myself twice today just to clear my head. I just sat and thought about - Many different – oh, god, John. I – I, just want to –." Sherlock didn't really want to push it, but couldn't help himself. The fever and craze of the day came back to him, as he spilled out his confession to his friend. He continued to whisper like a school boy into John's ear.

"Do you, do you ever think of - penetrating me?" Sherlock was a little hoarse.

"Yes, yes, I do." John was suddenly panting. Sherlock leaned up to kiss him at his response, gripping his arms hard, raking his fingers through the doctor's hair. When they broke apart, Sherlock didn't pause a moment before he asked his next question.

"John, do you ever think of me - doing that to you?"

"Oh, god, yes, all the time, I do –ah." John's breath was taken away, as Sherlock dove in for another assault on his friend's mouth, kissing him hard, forcing him around and pressing him down into the sofa, grinding his hips against the doctor's. When they broke apart, Sherlock had another question.

"Do you ever think of taking– putting your – John do you -?"

"Taking your cock in my mouth and sucking you until you come and then swallowing everything you give me no matter how much, yes, yes, _yes_ –I – Sher – _Christ_-."

John felt the air knocked out of him as Sherlock's grip around the doctor tightened, and he pressed his head back, driving into John's mouth with his tongue, deeper and deeper, gripping and kneading the doctor's backside through his jeans. Then, with a jerk, Sherlock eased his grip, and gently held John's head against his chest, kissing his forehead and hair.

"Sorry about that. I um, lost – control. All right?" Sherlock held the back of John's head, and looked into his friend's face. John smiled.

"Actually, I _love_ it when you do that," John confessed, suddenly a little shy.

"Practicing your kissing, my lovely bad boys?" Molly was suddenly in the room.

"How did you get in here without us hearing you?" John asked. But Sherlock smiled at Molly, having heard her enter earlier, but he hadn't wanted to pause in his little interview with John to announce the inevitable.

Molly noted that John and Sherlock were mussed and very hot and bothered, but both completely clothed. _They can't have gotten up to too much, I suppose,_ she thought with satisfaction. She didn't want to miss their first time doing anything. She stowed her bag and coat in their usual places, and approached the sofa warily, unwilling to upset anything that might be interesting to watch. They were stretched out together, Sherlock against the back of the sofa leaning up on his side, gently stroking John's torso while John lay on his back. They both smiled up at her.

"Sherlock, what have you done to my John?"

"I'm fine," John rearranged his clothing a bit and made as though to get up. Sherlock noticed this and rolled his eyes, restraining him with a light touch.

"Please, _please_ don't get up. Let me watch. I'll be a mouse. Pretend I'm not here. Carry on." Molly sat on the coffee table about five inches from the pair, grinning not very much like a mouse, but instead, like the Cheshire cat.

"All right, Molly, interesting. Yes. Maybe you could – _help _me with something, darling." Sherlock paused and considered his next move. He spoke again.

"John's been saying some rather enchanting things to me, Molly. I'll tell you all about it later, but it made me feel, well, it made me feel very, very good. About things. And about myself."

"Ahaha."

Sherlock smiled his smug little half smile, and reached for John's belt, and then paused.

"So, I was thinking I would - ." Sherlock began to undo the buckle.

"That's not nec-." John began.

"There. That's what I wanted to show you. You've seen it a dozen times, yes, Molly? I go for his belt and he tells me it's not necessary. Can you help him with this at all, love?" Sherlock's eyes twinkled at Molly who twinkled right back and with even more mischief.

"I think so, love. John, darling, Sherlock needs you to _tell_ him to do it."

"What?"

"It's very simple. Say his name and then _tell_ him to undo your belt. Instead of making him beg you to _let _him."

"Oh, Molly," Sherlock said, "So simply put, so entirely accurate. I simply adore you."

Molly beamed.

"But, but I -." John began.

"_Please_ get over the reciprocity issue, John," Sherlock said, "You must be out of your mind if you don't see, if you don't _observe_ how much pleasure this gives me." Sherlock licked and gently bit his friend's earlobe. "Do it, John, please, I _need_ you to take control of me a little. Say my name and then _tell me"_

"Oh, I see," said John. _Molly was right,_ John thought and exchanged a look with his wife. He knew Sherlock liked giving up a bit of control, but didn't realize it went to this extent. A flight of new ideas took wing in John's mind before he came back to himself and the moment. He found his voice.

"Sherlock. Undo my belt." John thought he managed a rather commanding tone, despite what seemed to him to be incongruous circumstances. He noticed Sherlock breathe a hiss of pleasure at the sound of his command. Sherlock undid the belt quickly with one hand.

"Good, John," Molly said, "Now, tell him to unbutton and unzip you. Say his name first, and that tone of voice was perfect." Molly's muscles were taut as if she really were a cat about to pounce, as she watched her husband and friend put one another through their paces.

"Sherlock. Undo my trousers."

"Yes." Sherlock whispered, licking John's ear. John's trousers were unbuttoned and unzipped with a flick of Sherlock's wrist.

"Oh, love, you're doing beautifully," Molly licked her lips. "Now tell him to take them off."

Sherlock licked John's mouth, kissing him particularly sloppily, then he hopped off the sofa in anticipation of the next command. He looked down at his partner with that predatory look that sometime frightened John, but John managed to keep his composure. He slowly put his hands behind his head and made Sherlock wait for him. Sherlock and Molly waited, smiling, sensing that John was taking control, easing into it with an authority that was natural to him.

"Sherlock. Take off my trousers and pants – at the same time. Do it slowly." John thought he'd managed a particularly authoritative, but still casual tone. One that required attention, but admitted no personal investment, no hint of question or plea.

John watched Sherlock close his eyes for a moment, as if in pleasure. When he opened them again, they were dark with desire. John had seen this in the past, and it was usually a signal that his friend was about to devour him in a manner that was particularly out of control. But now all he did was obey John's command. Sherlock slowly slid the trousers and pants down John's legs, bringing his face close to John's bobbing erection as he did so, breathing on him. John felt his breath on him and hissed. When he had tossed the trousers to the side of the sofa, Sherlock waited for John's command.

"Oh, John, you are captivating," said Molly. "Good, good, my lovely sweet darling. Let me see." Molly got up and walked around the sofa a bit. She put her arms around Sherlock from behind, and though he kept his focus on John, he responded to her, putting his hands on her arms, rubbing them. As she considered what to do next, Molly absently pulled Sherlock's shirt out of his trousers, and slid her hands up his body, stroking his chest, then clawing him lightly with her nails. Sherlock moaned and leaned against her slightly. John took in the sight they made. _They're a beautiful couple, _he thought, _absolutely stunning. How did I get so lucky to have her, how did she decide not to wait for him? _It was a line of questioning he tried not to revisit too often, but when they posed so beautifully, so unselfconsciously before him, it was hard not to think of it.

But Molly was mainly focused on John, who was so lovely and willing and _smiling_. And he was taking on that extra bit of authority with Sherlock that Molly had suspected the detective had wanted, _needed_ all along. Nothing fancy, nothing strict, just that extra bit of control. _What shall we do next?_ she wondered.

Finally, Molly knelt and whispered in John's ear. And stepped away, then hooked a hip on the sofa's arm near John's head and waited, watching the pair.

"Sherlock," John began.

Molly and Sherlock waited, but knew John continued to struggle at this point. The point of no return. John had to actually ask for the physical contact, now. They knew he would have a hard time.

"Go on, love, you can do it," Molly whispered to John, as she maintained eye contact with Sherlock.

"Ok. Sherlock. Sit - between my legs." John moved a leg out of the way, and allowed Sherlock to sit. John swallowed hard. He felt his head swim as he continued to gaze into Sherlock's eyes, feeling his partner's need, his urgency, his hunger. Without prompting, Sherlock placed his hands on John's hips, and leaned forward, waiting for John to speak. He seemed to be content to wait, but hungry and needy all the while. John's voice fell a register, but he managed at last.

"Sherlock. Take the - tip of my cock - in your mouth. You can use your hands if you need to."

Sherlock smiled and complied. John gripped the sofa, hissing as he arched his back into the pure pleasure of Sherlock's mouth as his friend swirled his tongue around the contour of his tip, then pressed his tongue into the opening. Sherlock continued to tongue the doctor, as Molly rose and knelt at John's side, whispering in his ear again. John could barely concentrate on what Molly was saying, his senses were so assaulted by Sherlock's beautiful tongue and lips. But Molly managed to get him to hear her. At last John was ready with his next command.

"Sherlock," John's voice was hoarse and dry. "Take my cock deeper into your mouth." Sherlock complied easily, blithely. As he bobbed up and down on John's shaft, Sherlock alternately caressed the doctor's testicles, and stroked the base of his length. Molly let Sherlock go for a while, she saw how deeply he was involved, enjoying himself immensely, profoundly devoted to obeying the commands he was receiving. Finally Molly spoke to John again, whispering her suggestion in his ear.

"Oh, Molly," John whispered loud enough for Sherlock to hear, "That's not nec-.

"Shh, John dear, listen to me," Molly continued her thought at a lower register inaudible to Sherlock. But he smiled to himself as he continued laving John's cock with his tongue, kissing him, and stroking him. He knew what Molly had to get John to say next. _Can she do it? Will he actually tell me to do it? How delightful. _

Molly smiled and looked at Sherlock as she stood up. She was unzipping her skirt, letting it fall to the floor, then whisking off her pants, now naked from the waist down but for her shoes. She waited, smiling at Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes flashed mischief right back at her, as he continued to suck John, continued to wait for the next command. John spoke at length his breath ragged, barely audible. A hand over his eyes in embarrassment.

"Sher—Sherlock. Fuck me with your fingers. Molly will fetch the lubricant for you."

Sherlock pulled a tube of lubricant out of his jacket pocket before John was finished with his sentence and Molly smiled. _What the fuck has he got lube in his pocket for? _John thought. _Well, he has been obsessing about us all day, I guess it's not a lie._

Molly knelt to John and kissed him, then threw a knee across him, and mounted John on the sofa, pressing her sex to his mouth gently. Happy for the heterosexual distraction, John reached up to Molly's hips, pulling her down to his mouth, tonguing kissing and licking her cleft, as he felt Sherlock's now cool and wet fingers press between his arse cheeks, and then pressing into him with a little extra force than he had before. Two fingers, then quickly three, John thought to himself, feeling wrong and hot and strangely full and _good_, oh, so very good, all at once. The sensation was just too lovely to deny any more, and he bucked his hips, driving his erection farther into his partner's mouth, moaning loudly, now into Molly's sex as she squirmed and writhed against his mouth. Sherlock let John's cock pop out of his mouth for a moment.

"Molly, your arse is absolutely beautiful, I'm going to fuck it in just a little while, darling. John's pretty close, aren't you, love? John, when you come, I want it all, ok, please don't be shy." Sherlock chuckled, knowing that when the time came, John would not be shy about where or how much he came. But it amused him to say, and he decided he would just enjoy himself saying it. Sherlock sank down onto John's shaft again and pressing deeply into him with his fingers, he started gently brushing John's prostate at every stroke. John felt his face and neck and chest flush with heat and his world was obliterated in six strokes. Moaning and shouting into Molly's sex, John shot everything he had into Sherlock's mouth. He arched up off the sofa, casting Molly head over heels onto the floor, and even budging Sherlock a little off the sofa, so that the detective had to adjust himself to stay with John throughout his orgasm. Sherlock was a little concerned about Molly, as John's spasms continued, and was about to go to her aide, but she popped up from the floor with a smile, brushing the hair out of her face.

"Ok?" Sherlock mouthed with a smile, his mouth still tasting of John, his fingers still deep inside his partner.

"I'm fine," Molly nodded and mouthed to him, not wanting to disturb John's final throes. Molly sat on the coffee table and watched John come back to himself. And then he realized that Sherlock's fingers were still inside him, and his friend was still gently stroking him, while his knees were spread obscenely wide on the sofa.

"Umm. Molly? Did I hurt you?" John managed.

"I'm fine, darling."

"Sherlock?" He asked.

"Hmm. Yes, John. I'm still fucking you, aren't I? How does it feel?"

"Umm."

"Is it uncomfortable? You'll tell me the truth, won't you?"

John arched his back in answer, trying to decide if it were uncomfortable or not. This enchanted Sherlock.

"Oh, John, you're so lovely and open. I love how exposed and vulnerable you allow yourself to be with me." Sherlock continued to gently fuck the doctor with this fingers. He ran his other hand along the inner thigh of one of John's legs, enjoying the fair tender flesh, the pale hair. He leaned in and gently kissed and nipped the skin, licking and kissing up and down the leg.

"Am I hurting you, John love?"

"No, it's not – it's not at all uncomfortable."

"I want to keep my fingers inside you until you let me fuck you properly, John."

John looked up with a little alarm, but saw that Sherlock was smiling. He relaxed a bit, and Sherlock pressed his fingers deeper into him.

"Ah, Sher-."

"Does it hurt?"

"Hmm. No, no, it's just - ."

"Just a little invasive? Hmm. It is, isn't it? Some enjoy it." Sherlock pushed in deeper but gently, experimenting. John closed his eyes and tried to relax into what his friend wanted to do to him.

"Molly, John was just telling me before you came in that he does think of us, of himself with me - together physically."

"Well, of course he does . . ."

"Yes, but I liked hearing about it. He told me he thinks of penetrating me. Like this John? Hmm?" Sherlock stroked deeper inside his friend. "With your cock? Deeper than this?" Sherlock pushed harder, still.

"Mmm, yes, deeper." John's eyes were still closed, and he let his head loll to the side, let his legs open wider, tried to relax, but he was shaking with excitement, with pleasure. With the _otherness_ of the experience.

"He told me he thinks of me penetrating him, Molly, isn't that extraordinary? My cock is about this thick, John. Do you feel it? Hmm? Can you imagine it? And it's certainly longer. It will go a lot deeper than this."

"Ah!" John was surprised by the sudden deep thrusting that Sherlock initiated.

"Maybe I should do it now? I'm so hard I can barely speak, John. Do you want it?"

John's eyes snapped open, but he saw that Sherlock was only joking, smiling as he continued to gently stroke in and out of his friend's arse with his fingers.

"Well, _I_ want it, if you don't mind." Molly said, a little put out. She'd been watching Sherlock play with John for long enough, she thought, and she was getting anxious.

"Oh, god, Molly, love, let me just wash my hands," Sherlock leaned over John's body, his fingers still inside him his other hand, stroking the doctor's cheek.

"I'm going to take my fingers out, now, John. You'll feel their absence." Sherlock took his fingers away, and he watched as John's face registered the loss of that contact. John opened his eyes, the bittersweet feeling of the separation alive in his eyes.

"Yes, John, I'm still here." Sherlock leaned in and kissed him tenderly.

* * *

John was lounging on the sofa watching Sherlock fuck his wife. _God, they are so lovely together,_ he thought. _I could watch them all night and all day and all night._ Sherlock had been tempted to keep his clothing on the way Molly liked it, but stripped, instead at John's insistence. He was a little unused to the doctor's interest in the aesthetic values of the male body, and blushed a little, but complied with the doctor's request.

Sherlock brought a chair to where John would be able to see them both easily. He sat down, and Molly, who'd stripped off the rest of her clothes, leaned back into him, seating herself with her back to Sherlock, her legs wide, straddling his. Sherlock spread his legs wider, stretching Molly's as well, and then lifted her slightly to his chest, and positioning his tip against her, impaled her on his cock. Molly let out a deep breath of air, and Sherlock allowed her to adjust before he began to move, pulsing, and grinding her hips against his own. John could see everything and it was the kind of scenario he most enjoyed: both of them completely on display. He particularly liked watching Molly as she always seemed somewhat helpless in this position. The best she could do was to reach back over her own shoulders to stroke Sherlock's hair, or just blatantly touch herself, which John also quite enjoyed.

Molly loved this position, too, being wholly open for John. She locked eyes with her husband, smiling as she ground her hips into Sherlock behind her, pulsing back and forth, _toward John, then toward Sherlock, toward John, then toward Sherlock._ Her arms were over her head, clasping at the back of Sherlock's neck, and Sherlock was holding Molly's breasts in his hands, squeezing them pinching her nipples aggressively the way he knew she liked it, as she continued to grind against him, and he thrust his hips into her. She felt Sherlock licking and biting the back of her neck, kissing her hairline and nipping at her. She felt a prickly heat in her neck and face, and knew that something small, something different or something sudden could push her to a plateau. She felt Sherlock allow her to lean forward a little, so far that she thought she might fall. But he held her steadily, and experimented with a new angle, thrusting more quickly in and out of her. It was interesting and _oh! _hit a spot that was – _oh my god!_

"Yes, love, right there." She gasped to Sherlock, who continued his experiment, thrusting harder and faster.

"Touch yourself, love," Sherlock suggested, "For John," he added, knowing that John liked to watch her.

"Yes." Molly put her hands between her legs, and spread herself even more for John, rubbing herself and her particular spot, always keeping her eyes locked on John's, even when his wandered to her breasts, or between her legs, or to Sherlock. But John's eyes didn't stray far from her hand on herself, or her face as Molly rubbed herself faster and faster and harder and harder. He knew it wouldn't be long, now as her head began to jerk back and forth, and her eyes rolled back in her head. Annnd, that was it, she was bucking and arching her back, back into Sherlock, who was holding her, just to keep her from falling off him, as he pounded into her. But she was limp before he could take his own pleasure. He chuckled as he gathered her in his arms, and laid her on the floor on her back. She smiled up at him, lazily, letting him move her limbs where he wanted them, pressing her knees wide apart as he entered her again and finished himself off in her at his leisure.

"Lovely, Molly, lovely as always. Incandescent," Sherlock whispered in her ear and licked her ear for good measure. Molly smiled, delighting in one of Sherlock's trademark ear licks.

"It's cold, loves. Come on."

"Yes, love," Sherlock helped Molly off the floor, and picked her up, "Time to come to my bed." The satisfied trio trailed into Sherlock's room and clamoured against one another under Sherlock's feather duvet.

"Oh!" John remembered.

"I put the curry in the fridge when I came in, John."

"Ah, thanks, Molly, love. Ahaha."

* * *

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	26. Blindfolded 033013 (a first)

**Very mild bdsm,**

**Slashy slash for Sweden :-P**

**A **_**first**_

**And an answer to Sherlock's particular needs, recently articulated**

* * *

**Blindfolded**

"I love that you run to us, Sherlock," Molly said, "it's quite primal, isn't it?"

Molly and John were standing near the fire with glasses of port, looking fairly turned out. Sherlock was struck again by how perfectly attuned they seemed to be with one another, as well as by the happiness it gave him to have them both with him again.

"I love running to you, Molly darling, to both of you."

Sherlock had just entered the flat after bounding up the stairs. He hadn't been caught in traffic as he had been previously, but had gotten out of his cab about a half a mile away specifically in order that he could _run_ the rest of the way to the flat. It was just as Molly had said, primal. He knew there was something very wonderful at the end of the run, and the feeling of running flat out, even the short distance that he'd chosen, the feeling it gave him was ecstasy.

Sherlock kissed Molly's mouth. He noted her cocktail dress, and her hair done in an upsweep. _So lovely._ Her neckline plunged, and he traced the dip of it with his fingers, touching her skin. He noted her lack of make up, she needed none, and her lack of perfume with gratitude. He trailed his fingers to the back of her neck and leaned to her ear.

"So lovely, Molly, love, you are so beautiful."

His mouth latched onto her neck, and he caressed and then squeezed a breast in his hand.

"So are you, love." Molly whispered back, accepting his touch, moaning a little when he took his hand away, missing him.

John's text to him earlier in the day had been short and to the point. '_The usual time._' and then, '_Something a little more involved, tonight. For you_.' Sherlock had felt his bowels clench when he'd read that and felt excited and nervous at once. Though he couldn't begin to imagine anything specific John might have in store at home, he was fairly confident the game that would be played tonight would have something to do with the fact that he'd articulated his need for John to take more control of him. _What does he make of it_? He thought. _They probably think I'm a freak. No, no. They accept me, they're doing something special for me it's – they're – agh! _ Sherlock had tried to put aside the assault of his childish inner voice.

"John." Sherlock now turned to his friend, who smiled at him. He was wearing a simple black suit, a bow tie, polished shoes. But his hair was quite natural, quite untouched, Sherlock thought with a smile. Perhaps just a little detail unattended, he thought. He was sure it hardly mattered, but loved the care that had gone into his friend's appearance otherwise. Sherlock didn't touch him, but stood very close, well within his personal space, close enough to smell the soap he'd used in his quiet recent shower.

"You look very pretty, too." Sherlock's voice was low and already raspy.

He was hoping the doctor would initiate contact and he wasn't disappointed. John's hand went to Sherlock's throat at his open collar, stroking his friend's neck. Then he slid his hand back to his nape, feeling the hair line, looking into his friend's eyes, making eye contact then asking for permission he knew he didn't need. Finally, he pulled Sherlock to his mouth and they kissed gently at first, and then a little more hungrily. Sherlock found the doctor's kiss quite moving and was still a little off balance when John pulled away. Sherlock knew John didn't normally like kissing him when they were both standing up, in bed was different, but from time to time when they were both standing, John would step away from him to avoid any intimate contact. At first it quite hurt Sherlock's feelings, he was aghast to find. Later, though the detective realized it was that idiotic height issue that John couldn't let go of. It quite surprised Sherlock, but he saw that this issue of John's was the problem. The detective resolved not to bring it up. The few times that it had come up, he noted how angry, childish, morose and idiotic the doctor had become. A nerve had most certainly been hit. No need to shoot at fish in a barrel, however, he would leave it alone.

"Sherlock?" John was steadying him with a hand.

"Hmm?" Sherlock came back to himself a bit, the pleasure of the kiss waning. John saw that his friend was only a little lost in the moment, and smiled.

"Ahaha. Have a seat, hmm? Will you drink some water for me?"

"Half a bottle, of course, Doctor." Sherlock sat, smiling, and dutifully opened the bottle of water he found close at hand on the side table.

He sat in his chair, looking up at his friends. The words: _Something a little more involved. For you._ repeated themselves in his mind over and over. It was interesting being seated as they looked down at him, smiling, chatting about this and that. Sherlock found he was already letting go, happily, happily letting go of control. When John was satisfied that Sherlock was relaxed and had caught his breath from his run, he began.

"Well, Sherlock, Molly tells me you might like, ah, a bit of restraint in our –games? And when you mentioned I should take more control – of you, I thought - we thought – Well, is that – something you think you'd like? Would you like to be – tied? Um, bound?"

"Oh." Sherlock blushed deep crimson, but couldn't help but smile at Molly, that same bashful smile he'd given her when he'd held himself in the artist's harness at the studio, spread eagle, and standing in that compromising position for longer than was necessary. Indeed having stepped into the harness at all to demonstrate had been completely unnecessary. The fact stood out: he had liked it.

"Oh, I remember - at the studio, Molly?" Sherlock asked her.

"Yes, you seemed, interested. Was I wrong?"

"Hmm. Probably not." _Be specific, be clear, _Sherlock thought. "That is, you, ah – no, you were not wrong."

John and Molly waited to hear if Sherlock had anything specific in mind, but since he remained quite pink, and only looked down at his hands, John picked up the thread for him.

"Sherlock - we're not at all formal or strict. Do you need that kind of thing? Because I don't know if I -."

"No, not at all." Sherlock continued to be so agreeable, it would have been laughable had it not been so heartbreakingly needy, John thought.

"Well, I have something fairly moderate, well mild to moderate, worked out. Something along the lines of what Molly did for us, you know, the night of the tie? Do you –."

"All right." Sherlock agreed quickly.

"Ahaha. Ok." John rose from his chair, smiling at Sherlock's unembarrassed eagerness. John stood next to Sherlock's chair, then perched on an arm of it. He ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair, rubbing the back of his neck, watching his friend's eyes close, releasing himself to the pleasure of the doctor's touch. _So trusting with us, so loving and willing. Yes, it must be a great relief for him to let go. I'm surprised we hadn't though of this for him earlier. Best to go slowly, though._

"Do you, that is, would you like me to describe it for you?" John stroked his friend's cheek and throat. "Or do you want it to just, ah, unfold?"

"I trust you, I trust you both."

_Oh, god, he's dying for it,_ John thought, as he watched his friend allow his head to loll back in the chair at John's simple touch.

"Oh, you're so lovely," John leaned in and kissed Sherlock's cheek and temple. Sherlock hissed with pleasure and then, overcome with affection, John further licked and bit at Sherlock's ear before a last kiss on his friend's cheek.

"All right, we'll start, hang on a moment, ok?" John whispered in Sherlock's ear. He squeezed his friend's shoulder and rose.

"Ok," Sherlock was hoarse.

John chose a small chair and set it in a clear spot near John's and Sherlock's chairs.

"Sit, here, love," John directed him, and Sherlock complied.

"Good. Now, I'm not interested in anyone doing anything they don't want to do, I know that's understood, but I'll say it again. So, the safe word is Caliban, please say it for me now."

"Caliban." Molly and Sherlock said the word at the same time.

"Thank you. Molly?"

Molly approached Sherlock, smiling and holding a piece of black muslin.

"Very loosely, darling, all right? Tell me if it's too tight or uncomfortable in any way."

"Oh." Sherlock was surprised to see a blindfold, but he thought, _Yes, yes, that would be lovely._

"Yes, _yes,_ please, of course," Sherlock said, and Molly began to wrap the length of fabric around her friend's eyes. The strip of material was long, and she wrapped it around him for a time. The result was complete blackness, and no ability to see whatsoever, nor was it uncomfortable at all, and it seemed to be affixed firmly in place.

Sherlock found that he could open and close his eyes easily under the blindfold without discomfort. But either way there was nothing to be seen at all and it was completely liberating. When the material was completely in place, it was as though an unbearable weight had been lifted from his shoulders. All he had to do, now was listen, and do as he was told, and he was content, so content to do it. For John and for Molly. No, it's true, no one else, no one else in the world, but with John and Molly, yes, he could let go. _Why on earth?_ _My people, that's all. Just do what he wants, as he says and it will feel good, it will feel incredible. _

"All right, John," Molly said.

"Good, now, Sherlock, shoes and socks."

Sherlock slipped off his shoes and socks, and felt Molly near him, picking them up, and placing them out of the way.

"Fine. Now, stand, Molly will help you, but just stand in place."

Molly took Sherlock's hand, and he rose from the chair. When he was standing, John continued.

"Good. Now, take off your clothes. You can hand them to Molly. If you need help, we'll help you."

Sherlock didn't need help, and shrugged out of his jacket, then his shirt, handing the items to Molly. He shucked off his trousers and pants in one go, handing the clothes to Molly when he was done. The blindfold didn't at all impede him in this simple task, but he could feel the psychological effect of the fabric on his face taking hold of him: he felt freer than he'd ever felt, he felt as though he were able to float at will, no _fly_, take off and spin around the room, out the door and into the air.

"Ok, you can kneel down on this cushion." John placed the cushion in front of his friend. Sherlock felt John's proximity to him, and felt the blood rush from his head. He accepted John's hand, as Sherlock knelt to the floor, adjusting the cushion.

"Get well situated on the cushion, get comfortable, all right? Make sure you can kneel up, and sit back comfortably, please. You should feel free to kneel up or sit back whenever you like, all right?" John ran his hands through Sherlock's hair when he'd knelt and watched as his friend tested his position on the cushion, then sat up straight again, waiting.

"Molly?"

From inside his lightless cocoon, Sherlock felt Molly approach him from the right.

"Hands to the back, please, and put them in a comfortable position. Thank you. Now, the rope will feel secure, but if you had to, you would be able to get out of it. I'll use lots of loops but minimal knots all right? But it will feel tight enough for you to feel secure in it."

_Yes make me feel secure tie me hard and make me feel safe and held in held down by you by both of you don't let me go please keep me safe keep me with you please don't let me go like I had to go before I never want to go away from you again._

Sherlock could feel his erection near the half-way mark as Molly worked, near him, touching him. The rope was loose feeling, and Sherlock wondered if it were done well enough. But when Molly was finished, Sherlock tested the strength of the rope binding his wrists and saw that what she'd done was exactly as she'd described. He felt quite secure in the rope, but he could tell there were enough flaws in the knots that he would be able to wriggle out of it if absolutely necessary and if given enough time. He knelt up straight on the cushion, waiting. Then he felt Molly kissing his lips, and he responded, but she soon pulled away from him.

"Molly." He said.

"It's all right, we're here," she assured him, and he heard her as she stepped over to where he thought John was standing.

John was rapt at the sight of his friend in his blindfold and bonds, naked and kneeling before him. He tried to control his breathing, which was becoming more and more ragged as he watched Sherlock's cock come to full erection.

"Oh, lovely, Sherlock. Tell us what's happening, darling, please." Molly breathed as she too, watched.

"I – I'm getting, ah, excited - I'm getting hard."

"Yes, lovely," John approached his friend. Molly looked up, startled, this wasn't in the plan, what was John doing? She regarded her husband and friend, as John knelt at Sherlock's side, and took his face in his hands and began kissing him. John kissed Sherlock's neck, face, throat, shoulder and chest, while rubbing his hands over him, alternately embracing him, and stroking him. He took some time to lavish this bit of spontaneous attention on Sherlock, and Molly watched, saying nothing, smiling, excited.

"John, _John_," was all Sherlock could manage as John continued his onslaught of attentions, then he directed his friend.

"Close your mouth, please. Don't open it." Sherlock complied and John pressed his lips to his friend's and kissed, licked and bit them, nipping at his cheek and chin as well. John's kisses went on for some time, while Sherlock moaned through his nose, unable to open is mouth, dying to open his mouth. John finally came to a stop, holding his friend for support, stroking his chest.

"Lovely," John whispered in Sherlock's ear, "You're so lovely and I – I want you - I don't understand it, but I do - I want you. I want you and I'll have you, now." John's breath was out of control, ragged. He kissed Sherlock's cheek a final time, then nipped his ear playfully, and rose up to his feet again.

_What does he mean, 'I'll have you now?' _Sherlock wondered. _They certainly have me. But how will John have me tonight? John and Molly, Molly and John, oh my god._

"I need a minute," John said to Molly as he took her in his arms, gently rutting his erection against her. He kissed her, more fully, slowly with less heat than he had done with Sherlock. _What's the difference, what's the difference, I must be out of my mind to wait, to have waited so long, to continue to demure. He's so compliant he's so — Wait, what does that make me? What am I? What am I? _John's head was swimming, he found he could barely stand. Molly was half holding him up, now, he realized and he tried to take control of himself again.

"Sorry," he said to her, as he pulled himself up right, and made sure Molly was all right, too.

"Oh, John, you're so beautiful together, I'm wet just watching you."

"Oh, god, he's -," John breathed, looking back to his friend, a blotchy red colouring now covering Sherlock's neck and chest and what the couple could see of his face.

"Beautiful, Sherlock, you're so beautiful," Molly breathed.

"Yes," said John. "All right. Molly." John was himself again, and directed Molly to the next step in the game.

Molly knelt to Sherlock now, kissing him.

"Molly, love- " he said.

"You're so lovely, darling. No talking now."

Sherlock was silent. Molly took Sherlock's cock in her hand, and started stroking him.

"Ah, oh _god." _

"Shh, it's all right." Molly hushed him. She stroked him slowly, and then more and more quickly. John came to her, and dispensed a little lubricant into her hand, and Sherlock gasped when her now wet slick hand returned to continue stroking him, but he managed to keep silent. John and Molly continued to check in with one another as Sherlock's pleasure progressed and when he reached a plateau of sorts, John stopped it.

"Stop," John directed from somewhere behind Sherlock. _Oh god._ Molly squeezed the base of his cock, and held her hand there as Sherlock shook with frustration, leaning forward, his mouth gaping open. Little by little he came back to his senses, when John spoke again.

"All right, go ahead." John was walking slowly toward him, Sherlock could feel the floor moving, hear his steps, casual, not trying to sneak up on anyone. He felt the doctor move past him, and felt him stand in front of him, he felt his eyes on him as he reached another plateau.

"Stop, Molly." John put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and came close to his ear "Just a reminder, the safe word is Caliban, all right?" Sherlock shook his head, as he fought to keep his breathing regular, and his trembling at a minimum but he managed to remain silent.

"All right, go ahead," John took his hand away from Sherlock, and Sherlock felt the loss. Molly began to stroke him again. She was now varying her strokes, pulling at him with more speed, more imperative.

"Stop," John said again.

"Oh, god, not now, _please_, John, Molly, let me – I need to - ."

"Shh, yes I know, love," John said, "You're beautiful, just beautiful. No talking. Just wait. Wait a few moments." After some moments, John finally spoke.

"All right, Molly."

John gave Molly a little more lubricant from time to time as he stopped and started Molly several more times.

Finally, Sherlock was moaning loudly, threatening tears and shaking uncontrollably as Molly continued to stroke him at an agonizing pace.

"Stop." John signalled. Molly stopped and Sherlock tried to control himself as Molly squeezed the base of his cock and held him firmly. She spoke to him.

"Sherlock, that's the last time I'll stop. You have a choice to make now. Would you like me to put my mouth on you to finish you, or would you like John to?"

Sherlock could barely believe what he was hearing and said so.

"What? I'm sorry, _what_?"

"Me, or John, darling? You must choose." Molly couldn't help but smile and looked to John.

"Oh, god, don't – don't make me choose, please, _please_, just - I need to -, Molly, John?"

Sherlock felt John come to his side, his hand on his shoulder.

"We won't – we won't make you choose," said John as he slid down to kneel next to Sherlock. Sherlock hissed with pleasure when he sensed John's proximity. Sherlock noticed, too, that John was now bare to the waist and the skin to skin contact made him dizzy.

The doctor kissed and licked a path from Sherlock's ear and neck, down to a nipple which he licked and nipped at, and then lowered himself to Sherlock's cock, licking the tip, then taking him into his mouth. Sherlock let out a long loud moan of desperate satisfaction as he felt the doctor's tongue flick along the tip. He almost blacked out with pleasure when John took him deep into the back of his mouth, easing himself slowly down the shaft.

John removed Molly's hand from the base of Sherlock's cock, but held her hand in his own, interlacing his fingers between hers, making eye contact with her as he established a quick rhythm up and down Sherlock's erection. Molly smiled and lay down on the floor, looking up at John, smiling, holding his hand, content to watch from this vantage point. She considered touching herself, but didn't, relishing the sights and sounds of John and Sherlock together, for their own sake. She wondered what would happen to them, the three of them, as she often did. The developments between Sherlock and John were exciting, took her breath away, but she'd always considered their arrangement, their triad as somewhat ethereal and certainly socially tenuous. Could they make a go of it for years to come? She wasn't sure how they would survive. But she couldn't think of ending any part of it either. It seemed to be so perfect for them, all three. And now this, oh god, now this. Heaven.

"John, I— close." Sherlock managed.

"Whenever you want, love," John responded plunging his mouth back down on his friend's shaft, and Sherlock almost immediately let go, releasing into John's mouth, his whole body shaking and spasming, moaning his release. John took it as best he could, gagging a little, inexpertly licking off Sherlock's cock what was left. He then quickly moved to hold his friend, kissing him, and murmuring to him, his arms braced around his shoulders, supporting him.

"Sherlock, lovely. All right? Hmm?

"Yes."

"Not too much?"

"No, no. It was – good, it was – John, you, you -.,"

"Shh. You were lovely, god, so lovely."

"Oh, beautiful," Molly breathed. Her first instinct was to immediately release Sherlock from the rope, but instinctively stayed where she was. She sensed something wasn't done yet.

"Molly?" John broke her reverie, and she hopped up to untie Sherlock's hands, rubbing his arms, as she worked.

"No, don't." Sherlock said, a plea in his voice.

"What, love?"

"Just, for a moment, please. Leave it."

"Leave the rope on?" Molly looked to John.

"Ahaha, no, take it off, love," John directed Molly, "We have to have some circulation in your arms, hmm? That's good Molly, rub him, rub his arms."

"John, I - ."

"Shh." John hushed his friend, and continued to chuckle lightly, "Don't worry, we'll tie you up again, soon, love. Ahaha."

John gently removed the blindfold and the two men locked gazes, but needed no words. John saw that Sherlock had been shattered, taken apart and was still quite moved, and full. When Molly had finished taking off the rope, Sherlock put his arms around his two friends, and sobbed with abandon into John's neck. John and Molly held him until his sobs subsided and his breathing became more regular.

"You take it all away," he gasped at last. "You take it all, then give it back."

* * *

"I must say, John, Molly, I'm very impressed."

John and Molly had managed to get Sherlock to bed, stripped, and arranged themselves around him, holding him. They petted and kissed him for some time before he finally spoke.

"Hmm," John responded, spooning Sherlock's back, lightly kissing his partner's hairline at the nape of his neck.

"The blindfold was – masterful. And I had -I had no idea you were thinking of – that you were ready to -."

"Hmm, no?" John smiled into his friend's shoulder and Sherlock felt the smile.

"No, nor did I think you would - execute – with such – thoroughness and ah - proficiency."

"Ahaha. No? Ahaha."

"No, frankly, no offense. You've quite taken my breath away. Where did – how did you -?"

"Ahaha."

"Sherlock really. He knows what he likes for himself. And he knows the human body. And he loves you," Molly said. Her hands were buried deep in Sherlock's hair, pulling gently, Sherlock's face was pressed between her breasts, one of his hands deep inside her, gently probing, exploring.

"Mmm, Molly. John."

"Mmm, lovely," Molly arched her back at Sherlock's touch, and then opened her legs to him more.

"Molly. Kiss me love, will you?" Sherlock leaned up to Molly.

Sherlock and Molly kissed for some moments, while John spooned his friend from behind, now and then stroking Molly, too.

"John, we've neglected her, I think, haven't we darling? Have we neglected you? Hmm? Let me taste you. Sit up here in the pillows."

Molly arranged herself on the pillows, her knees still together.

"Open for me, love?" Sherlock, gently pulled her knees apart with his hands looking up at her, smiling.

Molly let her legs loll apart and Sherlock breathed in her scent and the two of them adjusted their positions on the bed so that Sherlock could kiss her inner thigh and nip at her. He was fully on his stomach, now, his hands on her hips as he leaned in and buried his face between her legs with a moan of deep pleasure. John watched as Molly laced her fingers deep into those dark curls, pulling his face deeper into her. He locked eyes with his wife, then drew himself near to her, kissing her, stroking her breasts, then, from time to time, fondling Sherlock's head, rubbing the back of his neck. Molly came fairly quickly in a series of spasms and cries and collapsed in John's arms.

"Just take me, John," Molly pleaded, before she'd even recovered from her climax, and John didn't disappoint her, hauling her away from the headboard, and mounting her easily on her back, while Sherlock, lay watching.

"I love it when you've just had Sherlock, love," John was saying to her. "I love it when you come back a bit, and you realize it's me. Yes, just like that, love, yes it's me, now, ahaha, I love you, too."

"Mmm," said Molly, "I love you, I love my husband."

"I love my wife."

"And I love Sherlock."

"Mmm, so do I." All three chuckled and Sherlock came closer to the couple, he could never keep away, the way John often did. He loved to be close to them when they were together, loved to hear them, see them, touch them when they coupled.

Molly had come to herself a little and looked into John's eyes. She always had a little something of surprise in her face after she'd been with Sherlock just before John was with her. It was a pleasant kind of surprise, a happy realization and it was a fleeting reminder of Sherlock's presence, and John relished it, even though he could feel him, see him in the bed with them. If left to himself, John would wait for Molly to rest, but she always insisted he take her right away, and he loved it this way, so he obliged her.

"_Sher_lock," John said, a little surprised to feel Sherlock touching him from behind, just stroking his backside, gently.

"Hmm? No? Shall I stop?"

"No, it's, ah, oh, Molly, Sherlock."

"Here, this should help." Sherlock used a little lubricant, and pressed a finger into John as he continued to move on top of Molly.

"Ah-, oh god, what, Sherlock I don't actually _need_ any help, really -" John began to buck and thrust faster than he would have at this early stage, and felt a little rushed, but Molly was clearly loving it, writhing and thrusting against him as he went, so he didn't refuse.

"Not enough? Here, I'll just -." Sherlock pressed two fingers into John, now, gripping his shoulder with his free hand and John felt as though his neck and face had burst into flame.

"Jesus, Sherlock, oh, Molly." John leaned down, pressing his face against Molly's shoulder, biting into her, thrusting relentlessly now. Sherlock kept up with John and Molly, keeping contact as John was more and more violent, less predictable as he began to pound into Molly. Molly was crying out now, fairly loudly, in time with John's thrusting and John's usual final vocalization pattern was beginning, Sherlock recognized. _Another? _ He thought. Sherlock pressed a third finger into John, thrusting and twisting.

"Oh, Jesus _fucking_ Christ, oh, god, mother_fucker_, oh, Molly, Molly, oh, _god, oh, fuck,_" said John.

Molly's final vocalizations weren't exactly words, but the two of them together were very loud, and Sherlock chuckled as the pair finished at the same time, swear words and screams all together. Sherlock drew his fingers out of John, and watched as the couple collapsed together, breathing hard. He leaned over Molly and kissed her.

"I love kissing you when you're done, Darling, I love your mouth when you're done." Sherlock ran his tongue over her lips, nipping her, then sucking her tongue inside his mouth. She was responsive to him, but entirely compliant, and let him do as he wished. The three were quite for a time as Sherlock and Molly kissed gently.

"Well, my goodness," John said.

The three laughed together at that and sighed at once with deep satisfaction.

"Um, so, to answer your question, no, I'm not."

"What's that, Molly, love?" Sherlock continued kissing her.

"I'm not feeling at all neglected."

"Ah, that's good, that's very good."

"Ahaha."

Sherlock pulled the duvet up from the bottom of the bed, and with a gesture of his arm, flipped it over the three of them, covering them all together.

* * *

**Ok, hope you liked it –**

**Hey, I know it's not everyone's ship, so if I offend: sorry.**

**BUT, if you do like it, please, **_**please**_** let me know, 'k?**

**Your comments, and messages are my life line! **

**The more comments I get the faster I respond with new chapters.**

**It's really true :-D**

**JennoftheGlenn**


	27. Blindfolded -II- Morning 040213

**Quick follow up so Sherlock doesn't think he dreamed it.**

**In which John takes more control**

**and shows an alacrity that Sherlock is surprised by and grateful for**

**Molly manifests her primal side again and Sherlock gets to watch**

* * *

**Blindfolded II – Morning**

Sherlock woke first before dawn. Though the room was almost completely dark, he recognized the regular breathing patterns of John and Molly, who slept, one on each side of him. He loved being in the middle of the bed, was greedy for it, sometimes, but tried to be nonchalant. He suspected Molly knew, though, she'd smiled at him in a special way and relinquished the center spot once or twice with a knowing look.

Molly was curled up to his left, a foetal position, her head touching his shoulder. He leaned toward her carefully, and placed his lips on her head lightly. She didn't stir, and he held his mouth to her for a few moments, delighting in her stillness - like a sleeping infant, her breathing, the smell of her shampoo, the feel of her silky hair on his mouth and cheek. Finally he pursed his lips in a kiss and moved his head away. She didn't stir. Sherlock turned his head to look at John.

Sherlock was surprised to find that John was awake, looking at him, and smiling. The doctor rose up on one elbow and looked down at Sherlock, stroking his cheek with his free hand. Sherlock smiled, but there was a seriousness in his expression that John thought he understood. A reassertion of trust and devotion. Of gratitude. Of loyalty. The doctor took this in with seriousness, then quietly leaned in and kissed Sherlock quite authoritatively. Their lips met lightly for a moment, gently caressing, open mouthed. Then John had Sherlock's mouth open even wider, and was exploring him with his tongue, completely dominating the kiss. Sherlock was unprepared for such commanding contact, and his head swam a little, his breath hitching. John noticed and pulled away.

"All right?" John whispered.

"Yes, yes." Sherlock answered, a little embarrassed. He reached for John again, and John dipped his head to re-establish their contact, stroking Sherlock's flank, then reaching lower, finding his friend's half hard erection.

"How do you feel?" John whispered as quietly as he could.

"All right."

"Last night ok?"

"Mmm, very -."

"And, now?" John gently bit Sherlock's ear lightly, stroking him to full erection.

"Ah-, John – when did – did you -?"

"Ahaha. No, it wasn't a dream." The doctor smiled into Sherlock's ear whispering in a deliciously secretive tone. "It happened. It's happening now."

John slipped down Sherlock's body gently, positioning himself to take his friend's cock in his mouth. Sherlock gasped as John licked the tip of him, tasting the drop or two that was already there, teasing around the contour of the head. Then John flattened his tongue and licked up and down his friend's shaft as if Sherlock were some kind of dessert.

"You – you – John -?"

"Shh, don't wake Molly."

John took Sherlock deep in his mouth and listened to Sherlock hiss his pleasure in a sudden intake of breath. _What am I? What am I now? Is this what I am? What? _thought John, _Devoted husband and lover. What's wrong with that? Nothing. Exactly nothing. And I love it, them, her, him, oh god yes him. _Gently, reverently John worked his mouth up and down Sherlock, enjoying his friend's reactions to his touch at the same time he was taking in the novelty of the taste, feeling and texture of Sherlock's skin and hair.

Images from his boyhood experiences came back to him. Moments he'd forgotten about for years resurfaced and brought back sights and sounds and smells. Illicit moments in darkened rooms and closets, under brambles, unused out buildings, the backs of cars. The feelings of longing, of _badness. Sin_ that became heaven. So long ago. _But this is now. It doesn't matter. It's too good, it's so good. _

John felt and heard Molly wake. She silently moved to him, and was suddenly kissing his backside. It tickled, and made him smile as he continued to taste Sherlock. Then he reached for the lubricant he'd already located and put some on his fingers.

"John, I -."

"Shh. Doctor, remember? Everything's very much under control, ok?"

"Ah –."

John pushed two fingers into Sherlock and easily located the prostate.

"Oh, _god._"

"Mmm, have you ever had anything inside you before, love?" John smiled as heard himself, finding his tone extremely cold and clinical despite his use of the endearment.

"Ahaha."

"All right, funny man."

"Just Molly's sweet fingers. And a couple of doctors'." Sherlock's voice was strained and breathless. John liked the sound of it.

"I see. Virgin. Like me. And these." John pushed another finger into Sherlock, eliciting a short yelp.

"Yes, ah –." Sherlock's backside clenched as John found his sweet spot with each gentle thrust he made. John let go of Sherlock's shaft allowing his friend's erection to bob in the air, unattended, as the doctor continued to explore inside Sherlock, softly thrusting and thrusting. He watched as Sherlock's pink blush became deeper and deeper. He listened as his breath became short. He smiled as his friend looked up, his eyes, desperate, begging.

"I think I can make you come without touching you, Sherlock, what do you think? Would you like that? Shall I try? Tell me, love, tell me if you want that." John made a few rougher, faster thrusts.

"Oh _god, _John, please – no, don't, - I want -."

John slowed his pace again, and returned to his gentle regular pulsing thrusts.

"Don't worry, I won't leave you hanging." He took up Sherlock's erection again with his free hand, and addressed Molly.

"Sweetheart, that's lovely, but can you -?"

"Yes, of course – how are you feeling this morning, Sherlock, love?" Molly left John's backside and whispered to Sherlock, sliding up in bed to kiss him.

"That's right, darling," John murmured to both his wife and partner, "Hug and kiss him, tell him how much we love him. Don't let him go. Hold him good and hard, and let him see how we won't let him go."

"Don't let me go," Sherlock whispered to Molly, though John could hear.

"Never again," Molly whispered back.

"No, never, never," John leaned down.

John lowered his mouth to Sherlock's cock again, delighting in the clenched muscles and moan of pleasure that he elicited. Gently, reverently, slowly, relentlessly, he matched the stroking of his hand to that of his mouth, and built the pace slowly but inexorably. He listened as Molly murmured her comfort to Sherlock between her kisses.

"You were so lovely last night, love you, is it good? Is John being lovely?

"Yes, very – ah, very lovely."

"Ah, good. Don't worry, we won't let you go. Never, never."

Though Sherlock was distracted with Molly, John could feel his friend's tension and excitement mounting as he clenched and released the muscles in his abdomen, legs and backside. John surprised himself when he considered how quickly he found he could enjoy these new experiences. While completely unused to a personal aesthetic appreciation of the male figure, John found it wasn't difficult to admire the beauty of Sherlock's body and relish the feeling of his smooth skin under his hand, his mouth, responding to his touch.

When he sensed that Sherlock was close, he left him for a moment to speak.

"Any time. I'm ready for you, ok?"

Sherlock came in only a few more strokes vocalizing only moderately but releasing for longer than John had noticed before. John maintained his hold on Sherlock's cock with his mouth throughout the orgasm, and managed to swallow almost everything he gave him. When he was through, John felt his friend's muscles unclench and relax. He heard Sherlock breathe their names like a prayer.

"_John, Molly. Molly, John." _

John continued thrusting his fingers into Sherlock, much more slowly and gently, less deeply than before, twisting carefully, exploring, experimenting. Molly watched John, her eyes dark and hungry, and at length Sherlock opened his eyes. The two men locked gazes as John wordlessly continued to work Sherlock's opening, gently, but without hesitation, without question. Finally, John pushed his fingers gently, but deeply into his friend, as far as they would go, holding his fingers deep inside, his eyes locked on Sherlock's. The look of surrender and abandon in the younger man's eyes was clear. Molly saw it, John saw it. John leaned to bite Sherlock's inner thigh gently, then a little harder, enough to leave a mark. Finally, he drew his fingers out of Sherlock and rubbed the mark his teeth had left, returning his mouth to it, kissing it. Then he climbed up Sherlock's body, sliding up his chest to kiss him. He felt his own length pressing into Sherlock's inner thigh and smiled.

"John?" Sherlock asked.

"Shh, not today. Soon, I promise." John kissed him and then Molly and back and forth until everyone was kissing everyone, gently, slowly, patiently.

* * *

They'd been lying quietly for some minutes when Molly kissed John, and budged him off Sherlock. She straddled the taller man, and arched her back, offering her backside, and John was behind her quickly, kneeling between Sherlock's legs, which were still spread wide. Sherlock smiled and took Molly's face in his hands, delighted to be so close to his lovely pair's coupling. He watched Molly's face as John pressed into her and identified and related to every emotion - the initial sense of violation, the potential for pain, the acceptance, the pleasure, the desire and hunger, the inexplicable need. He watched as John started thrusting into her, and noted that she allowed herself to be an object at first, let herself be used, thrust into, gripped and ground against. He watched her face as she allowed this to affect her psychologically, Y_es_, he thought _she's doing it on purpose, allowing John's thrusting to throw some primal switch in her_. At last, she smiled, and started to grind back against John, swivelling her hips, pounding back against him. Then Sherlock was startled to watch her turn her eyes on him at last. She leaned in to kiss him with an open mouth as she ground and bucked into John. Sherlock ran his hands along her back as he kissed her, feeling John's thrusts become faster and more cruel as the pair bucked and twisted into one another. John found Sherlock's hands and took them, lacing his fingers with his friends'. This is how they came, Molly kissing Sherlock, and John's fingers laced in his friends'.

John's familiar litany of obscenities and Molly's name was a little louder than usual, while Molly was silent until the end, kissing Sherlock. But at the last, she broke away from Sherlock's lips, letting out a loud low moan as her body shook and bucked out of control, pressing hard into John.

Molly collapsed on Sherlock and John lay down beside them. Sherlock held Molly, kissing her, and leaned to John, brushing the doctor's hair with his mouth and cheek.

_Molly, John, John, Molly._

* * *

Molly had gone to work and John was pottering about the kitchen buttering toast, sipping coffee. He watched his friend out of the corner of his eye as Sherlock stood in a corner, out of the doctor's way, but he noticed that Sherlock had been staring off and holding his coffee mug to his lips for several long moments without sipping.

"Coffee'll get cold, hmm?" John smiled.

"Oh. Yes, of course," Sherlock sipped, lowered the cup but continued to stare off into space.

"All right?"

"Um. Well, John, please, _please_ don't misinterpret me. I'm – I can't tell you how – um, _delighted _I am - that you_ - ._"

"Ahaha. Well, – I'm very glad you - that it was good -"

"It's just that, I'm simply - that is, I'm puzzled by the – the well, frankly, the _alacrity_ the, uh - _ élan,_ it must be said, with which you – you - ."

"Execute? Ahaha. Well. It's been rather a long time coming, hmm? Oh, good lord, that was actually totally unintentional, please forgive it - ahaha. But, I guess I've had time to, uh, think about things. And I've had plenty of time to – get used to - you. Know you, um, physically - and what you - need - a little more."

"Yes, but, - but, I mean, _John_ - you -."

"There's no rational explanation. Perhaps, just, 'reason not the need,' hmm?"

Sherlock wasn't really listening to the doctor very carefully. He raised his eyebrows, and let out a breath, reliving a particularly vivid moment from the morning's earlier activities – or perhaps from the night before. The doctor smiled as his partner shook his head, stared off into space, and shook his head again, then smiled his half smile as he closed his eyes for a moment.

"Ah, no. No, indeed."

* * *

_Desperate to hear from you. Ahaha_**  
**


	28. The Thames 040513

**In which John is mightily enraged with Sherlock**

**Sherlock manages to say the 'W' word**

**Molly gets some unexpected but not unwelcome attention**

**Slashy slash and more Molly for Sweden :-P **

**(but I left the chocolate in the kitchen!)**

* * *

**Into the Thames**

Sherlock woke with a start in an empty bed. His whole body ached, his head throbbed horribly and he found he was too exhausted to jump from bed as he would have done otherwise, so he slowly collapsed back into the sheets, the pillows. He tried to get a grip on the past 48 hours. _Oh, god - the river. John is angry. John is going to fucking kill me._

"You're ok. I'm ok, everything's ok, in case you give a shit. They managed to drag Sudan out of the river. In hospital, much worse off than you, you fucking tosser." John rose from the chair, setting a book aside. He picked up a glass of water and something off the dresser and brought it to Sherlock.

"Drink this, and take these, they will help you sleep. You're to sleep for a couple more hours, doctor's orders. Ah, ah, just _take_ them and don't fuck with me Sherlock, I'm so ready to fucking hit you, I swear to god I will hit you so hard you won't need any goddamn tablets to sleep."

Sherlock took the tablets and water. He swallowed, and opened his mouth to demonstrate to the doctor that he'd swallowed them. John sensed the bit of rebellion that was inherent in this little act and said so.

"That's very funny, Sherlock, but don't bother. If you've tricked me, it's your own problem."

John took the glass from Sherlock, and paused.

"I'm this close to not giving a good goddamn, do you know that?" The doctor headed for the door. Then he turned back to see Sherlock tossing in the bed, thrashing about.

"It's hypothermia, Sherlock, you're to stay warm." He pulled the duvet over his friend's shoulder and arm. But Sherlock caught his wrist.

"John – I know you're angry, but please don't, don't -."

"Oh, god, you _stupid_ fuck, you know what? You've never been so fucking dead-on, mate, I am angry."

Sherlock gauged the doctor's voice with what little consciousness was available to him in that moment. Things were very bad here, he surmised correctly.

"Try to stay under the blanket, yeah? Do as I say and there won't be any trouble, I swear to you, I will fucking beat you up, if you don't. Now, let go of me, yeah?"

"John, let me -."

"No, don't say anything, just let the fuck go of me for fuck's sake."

Sherlock slowly released John's arm and the doctor fetched his book and left the room, leaving the door ajar. Sherlock began to reassemble and replay the images from some recent events.

He and John had tracked a violent offender turned drug trafficker turned racketeer turned arms trader to various locations. They'd broken in to various apartments and businesses, chased the target, a man named Sudan ('like the desert,' several of his associates had said) down several allies, lost him, tracked him again, found him again, got shot at by him, shot at him and lost him again. They tracked him to another location, got into a fist fight with him, narrowly avoided John getting shot in the head, lost him again. They had split up when Sherlock sent John into the Met to track some leads, while the detective followed the cold physical trail, texting Lestrade and John all the while.

_Power station in Pimlico by the river. Need back up possibly on river as well as power station. Loading some boat here from van._

The target and some associates were loading a boat with the contents of a van under the cover of the evening's darkness, but not much else. Bald smuggling. Sherlock watched the events proceed from a group of bushes near the road. He watched the van back up to a make-shift dock near the river and then saw Sudan go into the bushes to relieve himself, he supposed. _Isolated. Good. I'll grab him there, _he'd thought,_ Lestrade's men won't be long, I'll just, I'll just. It's a good plan, I'll just. _

Sherlock was starting to feel the effects of John's tranquilizers. He started to feel them, and then succumbed to them completely.

* * *

John brought his book into the sitting room and sat in his chair. He placed the book on the side table, and leaned forward, rubbing his face in his hands. _Almost. Almost lost him. _The doctor cast his mind back to the events of the previous evening.

Greg had received Sherlock's text, and John had read it, but knew it wasn't such a good sign.

"He won't wait for back up, Greg," he'd said to the inspector.

"I know," Lestrade had concurred, texting the consulting detective with instructions to stand by, and not take any action by himself.

"And he doesn't have a gun. And he's an idiot," John added.

"I know, I know" Lestrade was visibly worried but mightily focused on the target they'd been following for months now. He'd ordered back up as fast as he could, and then their police boat was pulling up to the power station without the use of light in order to maintain the element of surprise.

"There it is!" another officer pointed to a boat roped to a make shift dock. They made for the boat, about the same size as the police boat, when John and Lestrade saw a man being chased by none other than Sherlock Holmes. The two jumped from some bramble and start to race along the river, Sherlock gaining fast.

"We've got to take this boat, John, get in the rescue boat, and see if you can keep an eye on them."

John boarded the smaller rescue boat that was tagging along with the police and just as the two-man crew pulled out toward the shore to follow the two men on the bank, John watched Sudan jump into the river, and watched as Sherlock jumped in after him.

"Oh, bleeding bloody hell," John breathed, as every bit of sensory overload he'd had the day of St. Bart's hit him anew.

John had kept his eye on the pair in the water as Sherlock and the target struggled almost comically. _Don't they know they're going to die if we don't get to them?_ He wondered, his consciousness struggling to make sense of what he'd just seen, what he was seeing. _What the fuck do you think you're fighting over? It must be a purely abstract idea. _

Then he lost sight of the target. Then he lost sight of Sherlock. Then there were 20 minutes of shouting Sherlock's name with no answer. He heard his voice turn from normal shouting to a wail of loss. John's body shook as he remembered those 20 minutes of his life again. He looked as his hands gripped the arms of the chair _What will I tell Molly? What will I say to her?_ He had thought at the time._ How will we – how – I can't, I cannot -.. _

Then John had heard a weak call, his name, Sherlock was calling his name from the dark. John and the crew were actually able to locate him, floating on a piece of slimy rubber and they easily hauled him into the boat. With the boat's equipment, John quickly disinfected and dressed a nasty gash on his friend's cheek and chin.

"Did you hit your head at any time? Did you pass out at any time?"

"No, I don't think so, no, ah – I'm fairly certain."

"What about this?" John indicated the scraping on his face.

"Oh, just on that stuff I managed to float on, it kind of flew into me, I wasn't able to deflect it – no, that didn't hit me, it grazed me – I'm all right, really -. John -."

"Ok, shut up, shut up. Don't say anything else. Just - try to take it easy."

But, when they'd gotten to the rescue station on shore, Greg approached them.

"Bloody idiot!" John had never seen Greg so enraged. His usual gentle stance was gone, and his body conveyed only a muscular violence.

"Like jumping off of things, do we?" He grabbed Sherlock by his now sodden jacket that he was still wearing, and hissed and shouted into his face. Sherlock's body, weakened from his late night swim, had been like a rag doll, his cup of tea sloshed out, and dropped to the floor.

"Do you know how many charges I can have you done for, for this, you fucking prat? Wilfully jumping into the river. Against my specific order to stand by?"

"Greg," John wanted to bash Sherlock in the face as much as anyone, but was a little concerned for his friend's safety in the hands of the enraged inspector.

"Do you know the chances of finding a man in the _tideway_ after dark, you stupid cunt? Another stunt like this one, or anything _close_, and I'll do whatever I can to keep you locked up for as long as I can." Greg chucked the younger man back to his chair, the result of which was Sherlock falling to the floor, and three chairs falling over with a loud clatter. There was a group of people, crew members and station workers, who looked over at the violence, but seeing Lestrade, stood down.

"Get him out of my sight, John, before I kill him myself." He turned to John. "We'll go over the niceties in a day or two, yeah? When he can come in?" Greg gave John a sympathetic look, then turned to go.

John helped Sherlock back into his seat, and arranged for a cab. He spoke quietly to Sherlock as they waited.

"Huh, what about that, then? I think he cares about you. Isn't that nice? It seems as though he cares about you so much that he's furious with you. For risking your life. You know why, don't you? Because it would make him very upset to lose you. How lovely. I, I wonder - does that make you feel – at all - good? Or bad?"

"Ah, John -."

"No, no, no, it's rhetorical, really, _please_ don't say anything, yeah? I just wonder if you give a good goddamn. How he feels. How _I_ feel. How Molly would feel."

"John, I had to -."

"No, no, please, don't say any more. Do. Not."

When the cab had come, neither broke the silence the whole way back to 221B.

* * *

John's rehash of the previous evening's activities was ended for the moment by the slam of the door to the street. He recognized Molly's step on the stair. He stood when she came in, and she ran to him. She hadn't seen him since the morning and her blood chilled as she remembered his text asking her to run the bath, the night before. And not to worry. She'd thought that one of them had merely wanted a hot bath. Then they'd come in, Sherlock still soaking wet, and John with that terrifying expression of determined fury.

Molly had helped John strip Sherlock of his wet things, and helped get him into the tub, but had quietly stood in the bathroom while John alone washed and shampooed and rinsed an exhausted Sherlock. But she noted her husband's rage: it was the worst she'd ever seen before. Even when he'd been angry to find out that Sherlock had faked his jump off the roof, he hadn't been this angry, she knew. She exchanged a glance with Sherlock, and saw that he knew it, too. He hung his head, knowing not to make things worse by speaking or doing anything at all, other than what John told him to do, the rage was so deep. This would be very hard to get past. Sherlock knew it, as did Molly.

The pair got Sherlock into bed, finally, and Molly had crawled in with him to towel dry his hair, rubbing his scalp, kissing him, while John was silent, either seated in the chair, or pacing the room. Sherlock tried to speak to John a couple of times, but Molly hushed him. The only reaction John had to Sherlock's speech was to tighten his hands into fists, and Sherlock knew it was best to leave things until another time. The detective finally fell asleep in Molly's arms.

Molly noted one good sign, however. She saw that John was doing the caring, the washing, the decision making, _dealing_ with it. He hadn't just thrown his arms in the air and left the building, which Molly had half expected when the two men had come into the flat and she'd seen the expression on his face. She'd spent the day at work hoping that John had had a chance to calm down since the night before, but apparently that hope had been in vain.

* * *

"All right?" Molly went to him, smiling into his face, trying to stay sunny.

"Hmm. That is, who?"

"_You_ love. I know Sherlock's fine - in your care."

"Do you? I want to beat him up."

"Yes, I know, but he's fine, isn't he?"

"Hmm."

"How are you, love? John, talk to me?"

"Well, I can barely look at him. I gave him something to sleep, and I could barely – Ahaha. I just swore at him. I want to beat him up, I want to go in there and beat the crap out of him. He -."

Molly took him in her arms.

"Ok. He's all right. You got him out of there."

"He jumped, and I knew he was going to bloody do it – he made me watch him – and I just knew he was really gone this time – but -."

"Shh, you were wrong."

"Yes, I know, I was wrong, I was wrong."

In his mind John had been and was still replaying the moment Sherlock had jumped from the roof of the hospital, side by side with the images of the night before, jumping into the river. Over and over, he watched the wind take the hem of his friend's coat, his arms flailing in the air. Molly stroked his arm and when they came, brushed the tears away, and was patient as he let them flow for a few moments allowing the sobs to shake him, but then got control of himself. She was angry, too, and would be giving Sherlock a stern talking to, herself, but she knew her situation wasn't the same as John's. When Sherlock had jumped off the roof, he'd effectively tricked John, and taken Molly into his confidence. John would forever feel left out, though he was finally able to see his friend's plan of action in terms of its practical necessity.

"Do you think you can - forgive him – for this one?"

"Yes, of course. But - but I don't know - when. I just don't know."

"Oh. Well. I can understand that. That'll be ok. He's used to you taking your time, hmm?"

"Ahaha." John managed a weak chuckle for her, and kissed her. "Will you stay with him? He'll be up in – well, very soon, any minute, really. And – you know - be with him, if you like. But I can't – I can't sleep here tonight, yeah?"

"Oh, John, don't, love, – don't do this -."

"No, darling, I just can't – please – I think it will just be better if I'm – alone tonight – I'm ready to beat him up, ok? Let me just get through this? Hey. You know I'm not going to do anything stupid, yeah? Honestly, I'll be fine - I just need to decompress."

Molly considered. She didn't like to argue with John, he was her rock, and she liked to depend on him. But this was wrong on a lot of different levels, and she knew she was right. In the end, though, she let him have his way.

"I'll come home to you later," she made her deal.

"No, that's all right, I -."

"No, I will. I have to check on you, I can't leave you with it all night. And it will be easier to get ready for work there, anyway, I'll have more choices."

"All right. Call me, and I'll pick you up."

"It's less than a quarter of a mile, John."

"Molly, in the middle of the night? Call me. Full stop."

"All right."

Molly watched as John picked up his book, his laptop and packed them into his bag. He put on his coat, and she walked him to the door.

"You'll call me, if you're coming over?" His voice was all censure before any wrong doing. She smiled at him.

"Yes, I promise. And I am coming."

"Ok," he kissed her, and was gone down the stairs and out the door.

Molly sighed. _And we'd just gotten to such a lovely point in our time together, such a lovely, loving point. How long will this go on?_ She wondered. She knew Sherlock would be ready to apologize, but it was John that they would be waiting for, to accept. She steeled herself, and walked into the bedroom.

"He's gone to yours?" Sherlock was fully awake and sitting up in bed, his fingers steepled under his chin.

"Yes." Molly stood by the bed, looking at her friend.

"And he's – he's sleeping there?"

"Well, yes. He's – you know, he's reliving it, Sherlock. He's reliving Bart's."

"I know, I know." Sherlock rubbed his face with the heels of his hands, and ran his fingers through his hair gripping it in fists for a moment. "Please - come to me – ." He held out a hand to Molly, without looking at her, not able to bear her reproach as well as John's. Molly slid into bed, and took him in her arms and he gratefully buried his face in her hair.

"I thought I could swim to him, the target, Sudan, and grab one of the pylons, but I misjudged the current," Sherlock began to explain. The explanation that he'd wanted to give John a thousand times since he'd been pulled out of the river.

"Because it was dark? On the river?"

"Probably, and - and I wasn't able to get to him in time to – to - but I did, I did _get_ to him as I thought I could, I was right about that – I got to him, but then there was no time to – the current was too swift - I was -."

"You were wrong."

"I – I miscalculated."

"You were wrong."

"I-, Yes. I was wrong, I was _wrong_. Please, _please_ forgive me, please say you'll forgive me, I'm sorry."

"Of course I forgive you. You're such an idiot." Molly kissed him and patted the bandage on his face.

"What's this?"

"War wound. I got a scrape, nothing important. John -. Oh, god_._"

"Yes, love. Sherlock. You're not alone anymore. Don't you see that? You'll ruin us, love if you don't stop doing these things."

"Yes. I see that, now, I wasn't – I was –." He kissed her mouth, tentatively at first, and then more deeply, when he saw that she would accept him.

"What will we do about you and John?" Molly's hands were in Sherlock's hair.

"I'll go over there this very minute and -."

"No. He needs some time and space. He's so angry, Sherlock, he's hurt, so deeply hurt."

"Yes. I'm – I'm sorry. I was - I was wrong." Sherlock whispered in her hair. "I'll do anything, Molly, tell me what to do. What can I say to him?"

Molly smiled as she heard him pronounce that hated word. She knew it wasn't easy for him to say.

"You'll tell him what you've said to me. It's just that it won't work tonight. He'll need a little time. You're so lovely though, he'll see you're repentant. He'll see that, I'm certain. I think that's all it will take. Real repentance, and a bit of time. For him."

"Ok." Sherlock hung his head, then pulled her close to him, kissing her.

* * *

Molly was moaning as she lay on her back, her legs in the air as Sherlock tongued her to a lovely state of insanity. She felt his fingers, now, dancing up and down her inner thigh, then exploring her pink folds, taking his time, before he pushed his fingers in, pushing her over the edge as she shouted his name, and John's. Her orgasm had barely begun before he hauled himself up to her level, and plunged deeply into her, fucking her harder than he had in some weeks, her knees over his shoulders. Her body completely took over and she felt as if she were looking down from outside herself, watching as she arched her back into the pleasure, bucking against her lover with all the strength she had, writhing underneath him. She heard herself keening out a litany of non-words as he reached his own climax, and finished, himself, moaning into her shoulder. _Molly, John, John, Molly. _ _John, John, John. _ They lay for some time in one another arm's and Molly would have liked to just fall asleep after this emotionally exhausting evening, and session of lovemaking, but she knew she couldn't.

"I have to go to him."

Sherlock was up out of bed before her, sweeping up his clothing, dressing.

"Of course. I'll walk you."

"Oh. He told me to call and -."

"And he would get up, wake up, get dressed, walk over here, and then walk you back. Don't be ridiculous, I'll walk you. That way I can see him. You see?" Sherlock cocked an eyebrow.

"All right. I don't think it will get you anywhere tonight, but I certainly don't disapprove."

"Perhaps not. But surely the effort will be noticed if not fully appreciated." Sherlock was dressed and tapped at an invisible watch, teasing her for her slowness in dressing. He smiled.

"Ok, ready, just my bag and my coat."

* * *

John opened the door as Molly was fumbling with the key in the lock, and he stopped when he saw Sherlock was with her.

"I don't want to talk to you, Sherlock."

"I know, John, but that's not going to -."

"God, shut the fuck up, shut _up_! The fuck do you think you are? You don't know how close I am to - ." John tensed up and balled his hands into tight white knuckled fists before he took a breath. He finally unclenched himself, his fists and left the door open, allowing Molly and Sherlock to come in at their own speed. John walked into the tiny kitchen and sat at the table, unembarrassed in his shorts and tee shirt, his fingers referring to a mug of tea on the table. He didn't look up at all as Molly and Sherlock came into the flat. Molly made eye contact with Sherlock, and went along into the living room to drop her bag. Sherlock stopped a few feet away from John, and waited for Molly to reappear in the doorway of the kitchen. She crossed her arms. She knew there wasn't a plan and was interested to see what Sherlock would do or say to make things right. She knew there wasn't going to be much use trying.

"I just want to say one thing, and then I'll go – I'll wait until -. Um. Anyway. - To do that - I didn't consider - you—or Molly. And I know that I can't behave in that manner - anymore – with you, both of you, in my life – in the permanent way that I want you, both of you, to remain – uh - in my life. I realize that – I risk you – when I risk myself, uh, that way. And I know it's not my decision to make alone. Ok. Ok. I have to go home now, and vomit, because that was about as nauseating a group of sentiments as I think I've ever uttered, but – I think that – I know that – well – they're right and – true.. John. I – miscalc – I was wrong, John. I was – wrong. I'm sorry. All right. Goodnight. Goodnight, Molly, love."

Sherlock saw that John wasn't going to make a move, so he made for the door, where he paused to look at his friend again, but John didn't look up.

"Ok." He said quietly, and was gone.

Molly was by John's side.

"Did you help him with that?"

"Well, I talked to him, we talked about it."

"Yes. Well, not bad, actually." John rose with a sigh and put his arm around his wife. She moved into his embrace, and they kissed. John tucked his face into the crook of her neck, just as Sherlock had done and breathed her scent deeply, then moved to kiss her again, more deeply, then he was touching her petting her, his hand under her blouse.

"Mmm, Molly, _Molly_. You've been with him tonight?"

"Hmm, yes."

"You smell like him. I can smell him on you, love. _Ah_, I can taste him."

"Yes?"

John was kissing her neck and squeezing her breasts hard, now, the way he'd seen Sherlock do to her. John had seen his friend treat Molly with much more physical roughness than John thought was appropriate, but saw how much Molly enjoyed it, and never complained about being hurt. He'd never felt the need for one-upmanship in this department, nor did he want to be a copy-kat. But tonight he felt compelled, to be more physically engaged, to be more aggressive: he was extremely angry after all. And here was Molly, all willingness and acceptance. He'd take it out on her. But gently. As gently as he could. He kissed her mouth, now, deeply, roughly, gripping her hard at the small of her back, his other hand in her hair.

"_Molly_ - I – what did you do? What did he do to you?"

"He, he put his mouth between my legs."

John lifted her skirt, and pulling her pants aside, entered her with his fingers.

"Yes? What else? What else did he do?"

"Ah, _John_. He fucked me - hard - harder than he has in a while."

Molly saw what he needed and didn't demur. She sighed at the thought of another bout of rough contact, she was already exhausted, but wasn't going to leave John alone with his anger. And she relished the few moments when he was able to let go with her. Perhaps he would tonight.

"Hmm, all right. Come here." John moved into the living room and knelt to the carpeted floor, pulling Molly down with him. Pushing her clothing to the side, rather than removing any of it, he was inside her in only a few moments, pushing and thrusting deep and hard. He reached behind her back, and unclasped her bra, pushing it up, exposing her breasts. He tasted them rapaciously, tasting Sherlock's saliva on them, hungry to find other evidence of his presence. He pounded into Molly.

"Hard like this?"

"Yes, love, ah, _John._"

"Harder?"

"Y- yes."

John slammed into his wife with all his force, tried to get her to moan, cry out, which she did. He fucked her as hard as he could until she shed tears and then he backed down a bit. He slowed, taking more time with her, watching her, gauging her pleasure and managed to bring her off at the same time he came inside her. They lay panting beside one another on the carpet for several minutes.

"Mmm, sorry, did I – hurt you at all?"

"John, it was – you were - magnificent."

"Ahaha."

Molly rolled away and managed to stand.

"Come on. Jesus Christ, the pair of you - I'm going to be a wreck at work. Bed, now, come on."

She took John by the hand and led him to their bedroom. They got into bed and held one another, both of them already near sleep. But Molly couldn't let the issue go before sleep took her.

"How long? Do you think?" She asked, as she began to drop off.

"I don't know. I don't know."

"Days? Weeks? Months?"

"Oh, god. Not months. No, no."

"Ah, good." Molly paused not wanting to push it, but couldn't help herself. "Weeks, then?"

"_Molly_. I – well -. No, probably not."

"Ah. Well. That's all right. Not weeks? You're pretty sure?"

"No, no, not weeks, I promise."

"Ok, love, thank you. That's all right then – love you."

"Love you."

"Love him."

"Yes. Love him. The fucking tosser."

* * *

Sherlock left John and Molly's building and stepped onto the street, slowly meandering back to the flat, unwilling to go back to an empty group of rooms, an empty bed. He saw that while John wouldn't speak to him, he'd left the door open, and gotten control of his rage enough to listen to him. He supposed it was as Molly had predicted. Some time and space and things would get back to normal.

He entered the flat and smelled tea and biscuits. _Molly. _ He noted how tidy everything was, military in its order. _John_. He could fairly see Molly in his peripheral vision, but he knew he only conjured her. In essence he could sense the life that existed in the flat until only recently. He stepped to the door of the bedroom, but couldn't bring himself to enter the darkened room. He backed away from the door as though it contained something sinister, but he knew it would be right again soon. He chose a volume from the bookshelf. The Winter's Tale. A wonderful mystery, almost completely indiscernible. He opened the little book, but only ran his hand over first page and closed his eyes. _Patience. _

* * *

**I know it's a fairly narrow ship - **

**And it's not for everyone -**

**so if I offend, please forgive it.**

**But if you liked it a little, please, oh please let me know – thanks!**

**Next chapter - either more angst or make-up sex.**

**Very possibly more angst and more action for Molly!**

**Def'ly more slashy slash!**


	29. The Thames -II- 4 Days & 5 Nights

_Hey, there, FYI, that last chapter had a grievous typo that had to be fixed, and so I had to re-load it, which I think sent you followers and favers, a message, which I didn't mean to send – Sorry about that! – I didn't mean to trick you! It won't happen again! I will try to be more careful._

**In which Molly is mightily tested but not in a bad way.**

**In which Sherlock and John get back to some semblance of something.**

**Mycroft rears his skeevy head**

**And the next chapter is set up with deliciousness in store.**

* * *

**The Thames -II- 4 Days and 5 Nights **

_**Molly**_

"You take milk no sugar, right, Molls?"

Molly blinked and looked at the door to the lab. Three of her co-workers were going for coffee, and they'd just promised to bring her one and she'd just been talking to them. But her focus and awareness had gone off into space all on their own again, and her companions were starting to find it funny, since she'd been spacing out all week.

"Hmm?" She said, "Oh, yes, that's right, thanks!"

"Sure you don't want to come with us? Get some fresh air?"

"No, no, that's fine – I um – no thanks."

"God, what must John be doing to her!" Said Liz.

The assembled women at the door tittered, though not in a malicious way, and filed out the door. As they went, Molly heard them say 'newlyweds,' and 'giving it to her,' and 'I wish my Steve -,' and 'I wish my Bill-,' They smiled and waved over their shoulders. Sharon remained. _Oh, god, Sharon, please, please, please no questions, please._ But Molly's wish was to no avail.

"Hey, Molly, what's going on, hmm? John keeping you up at night?"

Molly had had a couple of her co-workers notice love bites on her neck, despite her cunning use of scarves and make-up. This was the least of her worries, the good natured ribbing she was getting was only that, and she could handle it. What she was badly in need of, however was not more scarves or tattoo-grade cover up makeup, but sleep. _Dear, sweet, lovely sleep, where have you gone_, she wondered? She had also fallen asleep in a meeting, as well as her desk. It had been four days and five nights since the incident of the Thames and the schedule she was keeping was about to kill her.

"Yes, yes, haha, Sharon, yes, John is keeping me up a bit. Haha. I don't know what's gotten into him."

"Well, what are you feeding him? That's something that can sometimes contribute to things like this. What's he been eating for the last five days?"

_Good lord, 'what's he been eating for the last five days?' No, no, can't do Sharon at the moment – I know: morgue! Yes. That's it, I have to go to the lovely, lovely morgue._

Sharon was a nutritionist and her question was a serious one, and while Molly saw great potential for comedy in the interview Sharon seemed to want to conduct with her, Molly knew she had to get away quickly to avoid saying anything too revealing. The pathologist excused herself and ran to the morgue to avoid Sharon from nutrition, though all she really wanted to do was collapse on her desk, while the others were out, and catch ten minutes of sleep.

Owing to John's rage at Sherlock chucking himself into the Thames as had been chasing a criminal, John was still avoiding 221B, and was staying at the married couple's flat. Though it was only a couple blocks' walk away, the current arrangement was starting to really wear Molly down. For the last five nights, Molly had had dinner with either John or Sherlock separately, then if dinner had been with John, she had gone to 221B, where Sherlock proceeded to make love to her for hours, and no sleep at all was had. Molly marvelled at how incredible he had been each and every time, and had varied his usually quite desperate and animalistic approach with lots more subtlety and variety. Each time, she thought, he set the bar a little higher, but the next time he'd done it again, and then again. _Where will this end? Me in the grave, _she'd thought, _but with a big smile on my face._

Close to midnight, the pair would dress, and Sherlock would walk Molly to the apartment containing John. Molly would let them in with her key, and they would find John seated at the tiny kitchen table with a mug of tea in front of him, which he seemed to be mostly ignoring, as he waited up for Molly. Sherlock would stand by the door, which he held ajar. The two men wouldn't look at each other: Sherlock out of deference, and John out of rage, at first, and later out of stubbornness. Then, Sherlock would sigh, and say 'Ok. Good night,' and go.

Then John would take Molly on the living room carpet or the sofa quickly and urgently, pounding into her roughly, licking her all over, searching for all evidence of Sherlock's presence. He'd ask her what she'd done with their friend earlier in the evening, and Molly would tell him, sometimes in some detail, relishing the way her husband would react to each tidbit of information, usually with more roughness and force. He was able to let go in these moments, she saw, and she wasn't able to say 'no' to these new lovemaking sessions, since they were so thrilling. B_ut dear god in heaven, I can't keep this up for much longer, for godssake, someone end this stalemate!_

After this initial bout of rough, immediate contact, the pair would make their way to bed, but just as Molly was falling asleep, John would take her again, this time in his usual manner, quite thoroughly, quietly, all loving attentiveness, and she loved this, too, and wasn't willing to put her husband off.

One afternoon, on Wednesday, Molly had had the afternoon shift off, and John had been at work. She took a cab home, a luxury she didn't usually afford herself, and charged home as fast as she could with no plan but to plunge into bed fully clothed and _sleep. _But there was Sherlock, already in the flat, his arms suddenly around her, his mouth on her, kissing her.

"_Did you shower this morning, love_?" He asked desperately, his mouth in her ear, in that bedroom tone that always made her wet.

"No, there's, there's no time, I – ah!"

"_No, you didn't – ah, god, how lovely, Molly, please, let me, let me, please_?" He had her knickers down to her knees, and was already pushing his face between her legs, tasting her, biting her, licking the insides of her thighs, looking, searching for evidence of John. She really had no say in the matter, she thought, so she said nothing, and spread her legs, taking the opportunity to lift her jumper and blouse over her head. _Maybe if I just let him, he'll finish quickly and I can fall asleep before John gets home, then I could – ah!_" He'd lifted her to his shoulder, her bare bottom in the air, and hauled her to the bedroom. It was only a mildly rough first go, and she'd fallen asleep directly afterward, and must have had at least a couple hours' sleep. But she'd been awakened with Sherlock on her, inside her, pounding away. He finished, and whispered in her ear.

"That was really very - very ill-mannered of me, I'm sorry, I just – I just – I'm sorry, please forgive me." She'd smiled quite evilly at him, kissing him, saying nothing, and he'd smiled back, the same naughty smile they shared at certain moments. It was a smile that John was not privy to.

"It's almost time. I'll see you later," said Sherlock, and he'd left quickly, in time to miss John's arrival at home.

_Jesus Christ, I should be writing all this down to tell my grandchildren or something, s_he thought before she passed out. She had a fleeting image of how she must look displayed as she was on the bed. Her skirt was still on and fastened, but all rucked up around her waist, her bra unfastened, but up over her collarbone like some weird necklace, her knickers still hanging on for dear life around one ankle, her sex open and glistening. One shoe still on. This is how John found her on the bed when he came home at five. He fell on her, though she was deeply asleep, fairly devouring her. But, she reasoned, she'd gotten about three hours of extra sleep that day, so she figured it was worth it.

Finally, on the fifth night, during one of John's second, gentler sessions with Molly, she had actually fallen asleep, and she woke to him laughing.

"Ahaha! Ahahahaha! Oh, there you are, good morning, sunshine. Did I put you to sleep? Sorry about that. Ahaha. You must be exhausted. But you haven't said a thing. We don't _have_ to, you know."

"I love it," Molly had said, laughing a little, too.

"Ahaha. Well, that's good. Ahaha." John pulled out of her and held her.

"Can you please just _speak_ to him, darling? I _beg _of you," Molly asked.

"He comes in every night, he doesn't say anything."

"That's because he feels he's already apologized. Do you want him to say it again? I'm sure he will. Just _talk_ to him."

"No, no – that's all right. I'm – yes, I suppose, I'm just punishing him."

"No, dear, you're punishing _me."_

"Ahaha. I see. Well, we can't have that."

John entered her again and began his usual attentive careful movements. Molly sighed and allowed her head to loll to the side in exhaustion. She decided to be direct.

"Don't, please don't take this the wrong way, you're beautiful, and I love everything you do - but can you just, just finish – for yourself? I'm ruined, I'm completely ruined I can't keep my eyes open – do you see? – please?"

"Oh, of course, of course – Hmm, I've never, thought of it uh, that way."

_Yes you have, _Molly thought.

"Think of it as though I've just come in the door, yeah?" Molly said.

"Ah, yes. Desperation, loneliness, rage. Like that, do you?" John looked at her with a darkness she well knew was in him, but which she rarely saw.

"I don't – I don't _like_ it, it's just – it's what we have right now – John, love, you can end it."

"Yes. Yes, I know," John started to move into her, locking eyes with her and took her quickly, forcefully with no move at all from him to help her with her own pleasure. She didn't need it, it turned out, she came easily when he was close, and he finished quickly afterward. They lay for a moment, breathing regularly, holding one another.

"Was that - real?" He asked.

"Oh for god sake, John, yes, love, it was real, of course it was – I couldn't possibly fake it tonight, I'm just too _tired_! Love you. Now, please, _please,_ let me sleep."

John chuckled quietly to himself and watched his wife fall quickly into a deep sleep.

* * *

_**John**_

Even in the dim light he saw how tired his poor Molly was, the lines of her face more pronounced, and the love bites all over her shoulders, neck and chest. _Where else?_ He wondered, though he knew he himself had left a number on other parts of her body. _We're killing her. What a pair of idiots we are._ _This has to be the last night,_ he resolved. He slipped out of bed and took out his phone and texted.

_I'll be eating lunch outside clinic in small adjacent green area. Talk? Near river. Watch your step._ _ - J_

He thought the humour would make his meaning clear, that he was finished brooding, and wanted to return to the way things were. He'd hoped, too, that it communicated a little of the contrition he felt about making this separation last longer than necessary. Surely two or three nights would have sufficed to make his point, but each time Sherlock had come over to deliver Molly in the middle of the night, he'd allowed himself to get angry, again. He hoped he hadn't waited too long and made things worse and somehow put his friend off. He was fairly sure he hadn't.

Sherlock replied almost immediately.

_Yes, John. Thank you. 'til then. SH_

John hung his head and realized how idiotic he had been to let this go so long. He'd ruined poor Molly. _Just look at her!_ And he knew how alone Sherlock felt when he was left to himself. But he'd had Molly to take it out on, too. _Oh, my poor, poor girl!_ He thought.

Desperation, loneliness, rage. No, John hadn't had a very nice time of it, himself, come to think of it. Each of those evenings waiting for Molly after dinner was distraction and anxiety embodied. Just sitting in that damned kitchen, staring at the tea pot and some tea things. He wouldn't be able to sit there again for some time or even drink tea out of that damned pot any time soon.

Once more he considered the three of them, and the strange arrangement they had entered into. It had been at Molly's prompting, of course. She had been the one to nudge him toward approaching Sherlock in the beginning, offering a shared relationship. He had only thought to share Molly initially, and never thought that he and Sherlock – well – never in the beginning. No, never. _Perhaps we have more staying power than we thought_. _Than I thought_. He could easily imagine the spat he and Sherlock had had, sparking an insurmountable obstacle to another couple, but Molly's involvement had helped to make him see sense, helped him to see a way to end it. _And Sherlock_, he thought, _Sherlock already considers us a permanent part of, his life_. _ He said so. Well, I can't live without him, either. Them. Both of them. Maybe there are years to come – years of us together. After all, what does anyone ever know about years to come? Even in the most traditional of couples? Exactly nothing._

John hadn't told Molly of his text to Sherlock, preferring to surprise her with a big 'all clear,' later in the day, he'd hoped. So, in the morning, John and Molly got through their routine preparations for work somewhat hectically, as usual, and finally got out the door in time to be prompt. He walked Molly to the tube, and then continued on to the clinic, which was somewhat of a trek, but he preferred the bit of exercise he could eke out of the walk. But today, he hadn't walked 100 yards from dropping Molly at the tube before an impressive black car pulled up ahead of him, and a man with an umbrella stepped from it to the walk way. _Bloody Mycroft, what the hell? _John thought, but continued to walk, now toward the man, until he was face to face with him.

"Mycroft."

"John."

"I'm on my way to work. I'm not getting in the car with you."

"No, need, John, no need. Just five - well, perhaps ten minutes of your time?"

The elder Holmes' mouth was held in a rather tighter than usual smile at John. _Smug motherfucker, it would be so easy, so lovely to just haul off and – _John took a breath and managed to control himself.

"Five minutes – all right." Said John.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and began.

"I understand there was - an incident. In the Thames, about a week ago? Involving the police?"

"Yes, yes, there was," John's patience was not going to take much of this, he reckoned.

"Yes, and I understand I owe you my thanks for having saved my brother's life."

"Hmm, well I dunno," John adopted a more casual tone, hoping to calm himself. "Nothing at all would have been accomplished without the rescue boat and her crew."

"I understand quite differently from my sources. I understand that you – seemed to have a preternatural _sense_ of where Sherlock was, ah, in the river – and that the crew would have surely lost him had you not been there."

"I heard him calling. That's all. I heard him from the stern of the boat. The crew were in the bow. Not very much _preternatural_ about it, I'm afraid." John clenched at the 25-cent word and the implication that he knew Mycroft was trying to make, and tried not to let the word stick in his throat.

"Hmm," Mycroft smiled, but looked away from John. "Please accept my thanks in any case, I am most grateful."

"Ok. Is that all, then?"

There was a lull in the conversation now, and Mycroft was twisting his umbrella's tip into the pavement with a little more concentration than perhaps was necessary.

"How is your wife – uh, - Molly, John?"

"She's fine, Mycroft, thank you."

"And ah – how are you getting on with her, John?"

"I _beg_ your pardon?"

"And how is she getting on with Sherlock?" _How is he able to purse his lips after each and every sentence?_ John wondered.

"Just ask what you came for, Mycroft."

The elder Holmes stopped punishing the tip of the umbrella, and took a step closer to John, and adopted a quieter but much less casual tone. John sensed a distaste from Mycroft he hadn't encountered in him in the past. _Well, _he thought, _here it comes. _

"I'm confident that Sherlock has told you about my knowledge of the three of you and your,- _arrangement_, so there's an end of that, hmm? You also know I have Sherlock under surveillance for unusual activity and that I do this for various and quite valid reasons, so we can put that aside, yes?" Mycroft paused and took a breath. "I can see that something is – 'wrong.' You've been ah - sleeping at yours, and Sherlock has remained at _his._ Poor Molly has been a bit of a shuttlecock, hmm? My question, John, is, how serious is it, and how long will it last?"

"That is none of your damned concern, Mycroft, now, if you'll excuse me -." John could take no more, and turned on his heel.

"Just as you say, John, you're quite right, of course."

Something in his voice stopped John, and made him look over his shoulder at Mycroft who still stood on the walkway and now turned to face him directly.

"But I do - I offer my sincerest wish for things to _normalize_ soon? In Sherlock's best interests."

John rage was almost beyond containment, but the phrase 'Sherlock's best interests,' stopped his anger. He knew that although Mycroft's methods and sometimes his results as well, were reprehensible, the elder man did care for his brother. He showed it the only way he knew how. In a skeevy, reptilian manner. John drew a deep breath and spoke.

"I don't think he's anywhere near as fragile as you make him out to be." Said John.

"Hmm. Perhaps not."

John decided to give him what he wanted, it was harmless enough, he thought. It really had more to do with John than Sherlock, after all.

"Well. I'm - confident that things will – ah, normalize. Uh, today. I hope," John offered.

"Ah. I see. Well, that's _good_, isn't it?. Thank you, John. Give Sherlock my regards. Good day." Mycroft gave his parting wish a sing-song quality, and waved his umbrella as he stepped back into the car.

It was only at that moment that John realized that Mycroft had probably been _hoping_ that their triad was breaking up, or had done already. He'd used words in the way that he, John had expected them to be used, not the way Mycroft and society in general would use them. _God, I'm an idiot. _John had a fleeting feeling of what it might have been like for a young Sherlock to grow up with this kind of manipulating cunt as a big brother. He shook his head, a little ashamed of himself, and resumed his walk to work.

John's morning at the clinic was uneventful, but busy, and before he knew it, Sarah was telling him to take his lunch break, and he was out the door, and around the corner to the little park at the river's edge.

He knew Sherlock would be there before him, and there he was at the edge of the river. _Probably got there a good half hour early, just so he could pose for me like that_, John thought, looking at his friend's unmistakable silhouette. Sherlock's back was to John as he stood against the light of the still low spring sun, his arms on a safety railing, spread out wide, his coat's hem whipping in the wind. John approached him and felt his jeans get increasingly uncomfortable. Was this a first? Had he ever gotten hard approaching a man before? Probably, though he couldn't remember. If he had, it had only been the fickle whims of his body playing him up. But today was very specific. It was because of Sherlock. _Is this what I am now? _The voice asked. _Shut it, _John's consciousness answered, and then, _Get used to it, these people are my life, now. _He was by Sherlock's side at the railing.

"Hey." John said by way of greeting, and Sherlock responded.

"Hey." Sherlock looked at John, then back at the river, a little defensive, non-committal. He brought his arms in close to his body, but still held the metal railing. John leaned his back against the railing, but quite close to Sherlock. He sighed before he spoke.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have -."

"You're -?" Sherlock faced his friend.

"Yes, I shouldn't have let it go on like this. For this long. I – I was – Well, Sherlock, I was just so fucking angry with you."

"Yes. I know, I'm sorry, I -?"

"No, I don't mean to-, You've said – you've already apologized and I – appreciate it. I'm not angry now, ok?"

"Ok - ?"

"I guess I got – stubborn with it and then, I think I got a little self-involved. You know, punishing you, or something." John paused, kicking some pebbles on the ground with the toe of his shoe. "I should have talked to you– about it. Every night when you brought Molly over. You gave me that opportunity - . I should have – well. Will you – forgive me?"

"Forgive you -?" Sherlock was at a loss for words.

John turned around and stood next to his friend, adopting Sherlock's stance at the railing, looking out at the river. He touched shoulders with his friend, his left one to Sherlock's right, and knew that no one who might be watching could see him put his hand on top of his friend's on the metal. He gripped Sherlock's fingers in his own, and rubbed the back of the hand with his thumb. John noticed Sherlock's breathing hitch at the contact, and the two held one another's gaze. Sherlock turned over his hand, and the two laced fingers together and looked at their locked hands in the sunlight. They stayed connected this way for some long moments. Finally, John squeezed his friend's hand, made eye contact, and released him, stepping a little way from him.

"Ran into Mycroft. Well he made sure to run into me, I suppose."

"Really?"

"Mmm, this morning. He made out he was concerned about the goings on at Baker Street."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure he did. I'm surprised he waited this long – I mean -, that is -."

"Ahaha. Yes, I waited a while, I'm – I'm sorry, Sherlock."

"Ok."

John turned, and leaned his back against the railing and the two were comfortably quiet for a time.

"Sherlock. I'm – I'm not angry. But, I need to ask - what the fuck were you thinking? Jumping in the river? Can you tell me? What did you hope to – accomplish there? I can't get it straight in my head. Did you think he could really get away?"

Sherlock offered his thought process during the moments before jumping into the river, his thought to grab Sudan with one hand, and then one of the pylons on the bank with another and then to wait for back up. His calculation of the current had been correct in so far as reaching Sudan was concerned, but not so accurate in terms of being able to reach the pylons along the bank before the current swept the pair farther into the river. His ability to gauge the current had probably been impeded by the darkness. John was mightily unimpressed by this explanation, but didn't get angry.

"Yeah? Ok." John shook his head again.

"Did – did you think he could really get away? You know -_escape_? Having jumped into the Thames? At night?"

"Oh. I didn't consider that. No, I suppose not, I imagine most would consider it almost certain -."

"Yeah, there we go. Almost certain death. Suicide? Whatever?" The two were quiet and John spoke again.

"When are you going to stop making me watch you jump to your death?"

"John, I – I'm sorry – I -."

"No, no, I shouldn't be doing that -_I'm_ sorry, ok? I guess, I just want you to know what it would do to me, if you - to us, me and Molly. You've seen how incomplete we feel without you. In general, and when we -."

Sherlock recalled the morning he'd broken into John's and Molly's apartment and had become an accidental witness to the couple's tearful lovemaking in his absence. He hung his head.

"I do know, John. I know. But John -."

"Yeah?"

"We do – both of us – we are involved in some rather dangerous – you were almost killed that day in the alley. That was a very close thing."

"Yeah. It's true."

"And you choose, you choose to be there, you chose to be with me on these – cases. And Molly – well, we should talk to her about it, but she seems to accept it."

"It's true. It's true." John nodded and closed his eyes.

"John, I've thought about this all week, but I -I don't know how to tell you – how it would be for me – if I lost – if I lost either one of you. I just don't know what to say to - how to tell you." Sherlock locked eyes with his friend.

"Yeah. Ok, ok." John nodded, and the two stood looking at the river in question.

"It would be – it would be -," Sherlock tried to find some way.

"It's ok, I get it, I know." John reassured his friend, and they stood together quietly for a time.

"Molly," said Sherlock, at length.

"Yes, I _know_." John rubbed his forehead in embarrassment.

"I think we've been rather brutal, John. I mean just the _marks_ I've – we've -."

"Well, yes – but -."

"Yes, -. She's extraordinary."

John smiled. "Yes, she is. Shall we call her?"

"And tell her that we've kissed and made up?"

"Well, yes – ah."

Sherlock leaned in and kissed John on the mouth, unhurried and unembarrassed, fully, and with patience as well as passion. John responded as openly as he could, though Sherlock felt a little reticence in his friend's touch, no doubt owing to the public venue and the shadow of Mycroft's earlier visit. He forgave that, too. They separated, and stood apart. John took a furtive look around to check if anyone had seen them. There were no people about, but there were a couple buildings overlooking the area in which they were standing. Probably not, John thought and smiled sheepishly at Sherlock who'd seen him scan the area. His friend only smiled.

"Sorry. But - ahaha. Molly?"

"Yes, let's call."

They took out their phones. Sherlock texted.

_Kissed and made up. - John to call. -SH_

Sherlock showed John the text before sending it.

"Ahaha. Oh, Molly, love, oh, sorry – can – it's just, we've made it up – yes. Yes, love, sleep tonight. Ok. Ok. No, I won't, we won't - No, I'll leave you to it, I'll go to his. All right. I'll wake you at noon if I haven't heard from you. Love you. No, don't worry. But call me when you get home, or text me or something, yeah? Ok. Love you. Bye." John rang off and pocketed his phone.

"She doesn't really want to see us tonight," John grinned.

"Ah. Really, I can't blame her."

"Oh, I've said I'd be at yours tonight," John grinned, "will that be all right?"

Sherlock grinned back, before dipping his head in embarrassment.

"_John_. Of course, of course. So – just the two of us? Just like old times?"

"Um. I guess not. Not exactly." Now John turned his own head away, trying to cover the pink flush that was certainly crawling up his neck and over his face.

"No. No, indeed. Five o'clock?" Sherlock bit his lower lip.

"Yes. Ok. 'Til then." The two men looked at one another, and Sherlock flashed a brilliant smile as he invaded John's personal space, his mouth close to his ear, his voice intimate.

"_I've heard that sexual contact between partners following a resolved dispute can be rather agreeable, John. I've never encountered it personally, but I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to it. Are you sure you can't take the afternoon off_?"

John smiled, and started walking away, back to the clinic.

"If I take another afternoon off before Christmas, Sarah will sack me, and I couldn't blame her."

Sherlock trotted behind the doctor, as he made his way back to the clinic.

"Are you sure? I'll make up a ruse, I have the perfect thing. Shall I start?" Sherlock was bouncing on the balls of his feet.

John turned, smiling, but firm.

"Don't – please don't do anything, ok? I'll see you around five." John briefly squeezed Sherlock's wrist, let go, and walked briskly into the clinic.

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

Sherlock watched John disappear into the clinic, waving over his shoulder at the last moment, and Sherlock returned the gesture briefly, and turned to the street's walkway.

Sherlock had been fairly certain that this meeting was to be a reconciliation, but had no idea that it was going to be this easy, or that John would admit to stalling or stubbornness as he had. He'd hated his time alone at night, but had a secret glee in knowing it would only last a while. Molly had told him the very next night that John had promised her it wouldn't be weeks or months, and he knew she kept a very perceptive finger on the emotional pulse of her two men. So he'd felt fairly confident that there would be reconciliation and he'd suspected a fairly uncomplicated one, a fairly joyful one, and here it was. It didn't seem possible. It didn't seem real. He couldn't keep from grinning from ear to ear.

Meanwhile his time with Molly alone in bed had been one of the most incredible weeks of his sexual life. He'd learned so much from her, grown, he thought, from being somewhat selfish to much more generous and perceptive about his partner, and her needs, learned Molly more thoroughly, her specific preferences, and he'd added to his repertoire. She had seemed appreciative, and was vocal about the differences she'd noticed. He chuckled to himself and wondered if John had had any revelations in this regard. He would have to ask him.

_Poor Molly! _thought Sherlock._ I wonder if she feels abused? Special treatment in the very near future is in order starting with flowers at work on Monday she loves that must tell John so as not to show him up No just send a separate bouquet from John as well don't forget to let him know. John! Four short little hours and John will be in the flat with me alone I will go mad until that time I will drive myself to distraction must find something to do with the time besides sitting and reading for I will obsess myself into a stupor and be of no use to anyone when he finally arrives I'll find something to do there are four experiments I don't give a good goddamn about a single experiment they're all going into the bin I can't read a single journal article report or analysis I will lose my mind I will go jogging no no that's too much I'll take a bath no but yes but later I'll clean the kitchen yes the kitchen I will clean the kitchen I will clean the goddamned kitchen!_

Sherlock Holmes actually stopped at Tesco on his way back to his flat, purchased tea things, some other basics, and a few cleaning supplies. When he arrived at the flat, he surveyed the damage. The kitchen was fairly disgusting, but not the worst it had ever been, certainly. But with Molly's flagging energy all week, and John's total absence, it had gotten pretty bad. He flung himself at it with every scrap of energy he had and it took him nearly the whole time before five o'clock. At about 4:30, he stopped and surveyed his handiwork, fairly certain that John and Molly would be impressed, then took a quick bath and put on fresh pajamas and a dressing gown.

Sherlock wandered into the sitting room and picked up a book he'd nicked from Molly's bookshelf at theirs. _Les 120 journeés de Sodome_ in the original French. _Good lord, Molly, what have we here? You are such an interesting woman,_ He had thought. He dropped into his chair, slouched down, and opened the book. Sherlock quickly assessed it to be a fairly ridiculous affair, though not without a bit of black humor. It was interesting to read about certain activities in French, however. There were some forgotten words and some interesting new ones, but it wasn't long before he let the book loll against his chest, and he fell off into a light comfortable doze. And this is how John found him.

* * *

**John & Sherlock**

The slam of the door, the step on the stair.

"Ah, John, love." Sherlock woke at John's entrance to the flat, but didn't budge from his chair merely smiling devilishly, looking at the doctor where he was standing in front of him. His presence both soothed and aroused him. Sherlock took in the whole picture he offered. "Hmm. Come here, love, sit in my lap. Let me – hmm, oh, let me lick your neck for a couple of hours?"

"Uh-oh. You've been obsessing, haven't you? And reading - _Sade_? Oh, no," said John, taking a step in retreat.

"No, no, don't be alarmed, it was only a passing interest in French terminology. Oh, I've cleaned the kitchen."

"You _what_?" John walked into the kitchen. "Jesus fucking Christ! Where's all your, all your - _stuff_?" John popped his head out.

"I've chucked it or cleaned and stowed it. For the duration of the – uh –agh:_ honeymoon_, as you put it. Since I'm not getting any work done anyway."

"This is like a real – a real kitchen. I – I could _eat_ off this table! Is it a present? For me and Molly? A clean kitchen? Thank you." John smiled.

Sherlock took in his friend as John returned to him in the sitting room. _This man is utterly adorable, I could eat him alive. I believe I will. His thighs, in those jeans are - so alluring. Why, though? Who cares? _

"So you like it? The kitchen?"

"Very impressive. Fairly military."

"Ah. Good."

Sherlock was interested in seeing if John would make a first move, as he had in the park this afternoon when he'd grasped Sherlock's hand. Sherlock had found it quite thrilling and hoped for more initiation on his friend's part, but was also content to wait, the build in suspense being something he now quite enjoyed. But seeing that John was expectant himself, waiting for Sherlock, he continued. He pointed his steepled fingers, which he held under his chin, toward the doctor. _Hesitant,_ thought Sherlock. _Has he been left in the exclusive company of a woman for too long? Oh dear. I'll have to . . ._

"Good, yes, the kitchen was, huh – Oh, I was wondering, by the way, if the term _soixante-neuf_ held any particular interest for you?"

Sherlock saw his friend stiffen, and then swallow mightily.

"Bedroom. Now," John turned on his heel and strode toward Sherlock's room.

"John, you're brilliant, you're fantastic!" Sherlock leapt out of his chair and followed John to his room.

* * *

_Oh, so unfair, I know, but it's getting to be too long a chapter, agh!_

_Next chapter will be insane with another 'first.'_

_I know it's not everyone's ship, so if I offend, please forgive me!_

_But if you liked it at all, please let me hear from you!_

_There doesn't seem to be a lot of Jollock out there, and fewer Jollock shippers._

_I feel lonely: There's a and tons of Johnlock, but I like 'em all together!_

_Would love to hear from you if you liked it! _

_Reviews don't have to be 'review-y,' you can just say 'hi,' and I will love that!_


	30. The Thames -III- Soixante-Neuf

_**In which John and Sherlock make it up.**_

_**John gets personal**_

_Previously in 'John's Interludes for Three'– from The Thames -II- 4 days and 5 nights._

_Sherlock was interested in seeing if John would make a first move, as he had in the park this afternoon when he'd grasped Sherlock's hand. Sherlock had found it quite thrilling and hoped for more initiation on the doctor's part, but was also content to wait, the build in suspense being something he now quite enjoyed. But seeing that John was expectant himself, waiting for Sherlock, he continued. He pointed his steepled fingers, which he held under his chin, toward the doctor. _

"_Good, yes, the kitchen was, huh – Oh, I was wondering, by the way, if the term soixante-neuf held any particular interest for you?" _

_Sherlock saw his friend stiffen, and then swallow mightily. _

"_Bedroom. Now," John turned on his heel and strode toward Sherlock's room. _

"_John, you're brilliant, you're fantastic!" Sherlock lept out of his chair and followed John to his room. _

**The Thames –III-**_**Soixante-Neuf and more . . .**_

John rarely allowed Sherlock to hold or kiss him while they were standing up. Sherlock suspected he didn't like feeling diminutive next to him. But today, once the pair had entered the inner sanctum of Sherlock's bedroom, John didn't seem to have that problem, and easily, comfortably joined his friend in a searing kiss which found the two fumbling with one another's clothing. Sherlock had gotten John's shirt unbuttoned, and John had managed to slide the blue dressing gown off his friend's shoulders, when Sherlock paused.

"John?"

"Mmm?"

"Do you want to – tell me?"

John pulled away from the bite mark he was about to leave on his friend's neck.

"Tell you what?"

"You know – _tell_ me – what to do."

"Oh, I see." John pulled back from the pair's embrace, one which John would have thought was fairly unstoppable, and looked at Sherlock. His friend smiled a reassuring though challenging smile, but John also noticed that his Sherlock's breathing was quickened and fairly shallow, and a blotchy color was rising on his pale skin, his chest and neck as well as his face. John smiled, twisting one of his friend's nipples through his t-shirt, then he dropped on the bed, his knees dangling, leaning up on his elbows.

"All right," John said. He looked as his friend, who waited, expectant, still breathing hard. _Can he handle it? _Sherlock wondered. _Can he take control of it without prompting from anyone? I know he can, but will he now? Or will he get self-conscious? Or that damned inner voice thing of his, will it question him now?_

"Sherlock," John began. Sherlock took a deep breath. "Take off your shirt. Don't do a burlesque."

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, grateful for the release, then opened them, and shrugged out of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head, naturally with only a little embarrassment in front of John. John took in his friend's musculature, his color, the ripple of muscle under the skin as he moved, but most of all he noted his elegance in every movement he made. Sherlock's color continued to be quite deep and John had a full view of his friend's blush spreading across his chest.

"Very nice, love," John noticed for the first time that Sherlock's hair was a little damp in spots.

"Did you - take a bath for me?"

Sherlock smiled his little half smile.

"Yes."

"Hmm, that's lovely. Thank you. Take off your pajamas."

_He's doing it, he's able to do it – can he maintain this sort of gentle, casual command? _Sherlock wondered. _It suits him perfectly and it's making me dizzy. _Sherlock noticed he was starting to shake a little, as well._ It's absolutely delightful. _

Sherlock shucked off his pajamas and stood before John, now naked and half hard, breathing a little irregularly. He raked his fingers through is hair for want of anything else to do with them.

"Take a deep breath, relax," said John, smiling and locking eyes with his friend. Sherlock complied and watched as John watched him in the soft light of the bedroom, lit by a single lamp. John took his time, and he could feel Sherlock get a little antsy, but wasn't hurried by him at all as he looked at each part of his friend from head to toe. Sherlock immediately noticed what the doctor was doing and watched as he shifted his gaze from Sherlock's hair to his face to his neck to his shoulders and downward. Each time John's eyes moved over a new part of Sherlock's anatomy, Sherlock felt it as a caress, almost a physical touch, and he was struggling to maintain control of his breathing. When the doctor's eyes came to rest on Sherlock's cock, the younger man was almost completely hard, and was starting to breathe irregularly again.

"Deep breath," the doctor soothed, drawling out his words just as he would to a patient in the clinic. Sherlock smiled at this and complied. "That's right. Relax, try to relax. God, you are so lovely." John continued to allow his eyes to roam down Sherlock's body.

"Turn around for me, let me look at your back." The doctor's tone was perfect for Sherlock. Commanding, yet still somehow casual, gentle. It was very much the tone he used in their more special _exercises,_ but he had managed to take out any sense of question, and only required attention and obedience. It was heavenly. Sherlock complied presenting his back for the doctor's further inspection. Sherlock couldn't watch John's gaze shift down his body, but his backside felt warm, and then hot, and he imagined that it was John's gaze that was warming him in this way. He also imagined his arse was quite flushed, too, and this was confirmed when the doctor spoke.

"Lovely shade of pink, Sherlock. Come here, lie on the bed next to me. Lie on your stomach across the bed."

Sherlock approached and lay across the bed next to John, who stretched out next to him. He gripped Sherlock's backside, and rubbed it, stroking each cheek. Then, he leaned up, and pinned Sherlock's shoulders to the mattress, nuzzling his neck, biting him.

"Keep your head and shoulders down, but kneel up for me, love."

Sherlock felt the power in John's grip on his shoulders as the doctor kneaded his muscles. Sherlock brought his knees, one at a time, up under him, presenting his backside high in the air, his elbows remaining on the mattress his head resting on his arms.

"Good," said John, "Now, spread your legs." John rose, moving away from Sherlock's side.

_What is he planning? _Sherlock's excitement was mounting._ He's still fully clothed. What on earth can he want from this? He's only ever been completely reticent when we've – Ah!_

Sherlock felt John position himself behind him, between his friend's knees, placing his hands on his hips, stroking and kneading him from his waist to his backside to the backs of his thighs. The doctor's hands finally came to Sherlock's arse and he stroked the skin, in circles, and then kneaded the muscles under the skin, alternately gripping and stroking. Sherlock felt the doctor nudge his knees even farther apart, widening the spread of his legs, giving the doctor a better view of his friend's bottom and his puckered hole.

_Just looking and petting? Is he going to - use his finger? Does he have a – some toy or other? But there was nothing, he didn't bring anything with him - What is he after? What does he – oh my god!_

Sherlock felt the doctor lean down and slowly lap his tongue across Sherlock's opening, and then probe him there with the tip of his tongue. The doctor lapped his tongue again across the hole in a long slow lick that was exploratory and experimental, Sherlock felt, but there was something else, John was feeling something else and Sherlock could feel it from him – _Oh, god _Sherlock thought – _love and care. It's as if – it's like when he's with Molly. Oh John. _The younger man felt his face go vividly red with embarrassment. He'd never had anyone do this for him before, nor had he experienced such thorough care for his benefit. The first time he'd been with Molly he'd felt the same way, but John was even more – _ah – so slow, so thorough, completely unreserved, oh, John. _He grabbed a pillow, and buried his face in it, letting out a long low moan of pleasure, of relief, of long denied needs finally met and released. He felt John run his hands up his back, to his neck, griping and kneading him.

"That's right, let it out, but you can let me hear you if you like. You don't have to use a pillow, love."

Sherlock's body was racked with sobs suddenly as his friend continued to rim him, slowly, patiently. Sherlock tried to relax and let the tears come, or not, as they would.

"Ah, that's lovely. It's ok. We're here now. I love you too." John whispered as he continued to lap at his friend, caressing his skin, kneading his muscles. He took his time, never rushing and at length he pressed his tongue into Sherlock as far as he could, and fucked Sherlock with his tongue. John felt Sherlock shaking under his hands, but he could tell it wasn't because he was near sexual release. It was the unexpected intimacy of the act, and it had shattered his friend.

"_Oh, god, John, - John."_

John continued for some minutes more, never adding a finger, only using his tongue, only using patience. At length he withdrew his mouth, and made a circle of tiny kisses around and around Sherlock's hole, chuckling a little to himself as he went. Molly rarely did this for John, though he'd always liked it, but didn't feel compelled to ask her. He'd do it for her occasionally, but she didn't seem to care for it one way or another. It didn't concern him enough to bring it up. It was almost pure pleasure, John thought, and he had decided that he would do this for his friend sometime soon. He wanted to do it to get past his own fears about this kind of contact, but also wanted to offer something special to his friend, to assure him he was trying to move forward with their physical relationship.

John withdrew from Sherlock's backside, still stroking and caressing his skin until Sherlock's sobbing quieted and he felt his friend take a deep breath and relax again. Then John gently reached for one of Sherlock's knees, gently guiding him.

"Lie down, love. That's it, relax." John watched Sherlock stretch his legs out, lowering his hips to the bed, his erection slightly relaxed. John continued to stroke Sherlock's flank and backside as his friend rearranged himself on the bed, then John stood up from the bed, and watched as Sherlock turned his head toward him, and rested it on the pillow.

"All right?" John said, as he shrugged out of his clothes.

"Yes, I was just a little -ahm." Sherlock cleared his throat, then he looked at John, his face a question mark. "John, what have - what have you been – John, did you do some _reading_ or some kind of _research_ or something? Or are you on some kind of _medication_ or other _drug? _I mean, to what do I owe the very great pleasure -?"

John was naked, now and sat on the bed, his hips at his friend's head. He stroked Sherlock's hair and rubbed his neck gently as he spoke.

"Oh, I see. You mean, how have I made such a complete turn around?"

"Well, yes. _Yes_, John."

"Ahaha. Fair enough. Well, I think I had – something happen to me – a change, a sort of psychic break through or something - the other night, the night we -."

"The night we used the blindfold. Yes, that was – John, that was - ."

"Yes. Yes, it was." John felt the blood rush from his head, his semi flaccid state vanishing quickly as he remembered Sherlock in his bonds and blindfold. "It was as though - a switch, a toggle - was thrown. Something inside – I don't know – but, but - it's not as though – as though I want to - Ahaha."

"Ah, no, you don't feel the need to suddenly – run to the clubs – hmmhmm," Sherlock chuckled at the image of John in some black leather outfit, queuing up at one of the – _No,no, banish the thought, not my John. _

"Ahaha. No, no. It's - only you. And Molly," John continued to stroke Sherlock's hair and rub his neck.

"Yes, you. You, John. And Molly." Sherlock's eyelids were heavy as he gave himself over to John's touch, while still maintaining eye contact with him.

_I also can't believe how incredibly beautiful you are physically, _John thought, intoxicated as he touched the man. _Your eyelids, your lashes, your skin. If only you weren't so goddamned tall. But your eyes, your mouth – oh my god, your mouth. _John pressed his thumb between Sherlock's lips, and Sherlock smiled as well as he could, enjoying the promise of whatever was to come next as he sucked and gently chewed John's finger. John smiled back, then withdrew his thumb as he spoke.

"Now, what was that French terminology you were talking about earlier?"

John stretched out alongside Sherlock's body, his hips at Sherlock's head, sliding down, to stroke and kiss his hips and cock. He palmed his friend's balls, eliciting a hiss from Sherlock, then took his tip in his mouth, sucking and teasing with his tongue. Sherlock was already taking John's length deep in his own mouth, swallowing against him, pressing his knees apart, kneading his backside painfully gripping, digging his fingers into the flesh. John stiffened a little, then tried to regulate his breathing and relaxed into Sherlock's sometimes desperate, rough touch, finding once again that it wasn't so hard to release himself to the pleasure of it.

"Ah, _Sher_lock," John protested weakly, as his friend gently pressed a finger deep inside him.

"Shh, John, love, you _like_ it, remember? Just relax."

John did relax, and returned the favor, sinking one of his own fingers into his friend's hole, thrusting gently, then quickly adding another. Sherlock's only response was to hum his appreciation onto John's cock. Sherlock added another finger, pressing two into John, now in gentle but increasingly urgent thrusts, as the younger man got close to his release. John noticed his friend's increasingly desperate movement, the muscles in his legs, backside and abdomen clenching and unclenching harder and faster. The doctor concentrated on brushing against Sherlock's sweet spot each time he thrust his fingers into him and Sherlock's response was immediate as he moaned loudly, and thrust his hips harder and harder, finally releasing into John's mouth. Inexpert though he was at this new activity, John swallowed most of what Sherlock had to offer, but lost contact for a moment, and caught a rope of ejaculate in the face, laughing it off. He reached for the tissues at the bedside table. Sherlock relaxed as his spasms ebbed away.

"What's funny?" He asked, a little defensive.

"Nothing, love, I got some in my face."

"Oh, I see – sorry about that."

"Don't be ridiculous. All right?"

"Oh, god, how can you ask? John, love. John." Sherlock reached a hand to John's leg, stroking him, gripping him.

John recognized Sherlock's usual post coital reverence and wonder at having people in his life, people who would do these filthy fabulous wonderful dirty things with him, and who would love him for who he was. The doctor tried to remember not to brush off what seemed like hyperbole on Sherlock's part, and honor his friend's sense of the beauty, fragility and impossibility of their three-sided relationship. He tried to reassure, to soothe.

"Shh, we're here now."

"Yes, I know – _John_." Sherlock rearranged himself so he could rest his head on his friend's abdomen, and quickly took John's length back into his mouth, stroking his balls. He moved slowly, now, with more assurance, less desperation.

"Ah, Sherlock – that's – that's -." John placed a hand in Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock hummed his agreement as he teased around the tip of John with the tip of his tongue, trying to identify the taste of him. Salty. Bitter. A hint of pine. Then he sucked him hard, letting his mouth sink slowly down the doctor's shaft.

"Oh, Jesus."

Sherlock reached for John's other hand, lacing his fingers together with the doctor's as he slowly built the pace of his mouth's thrusts down the doctor's shaft. As he worked John's cock in his mouth, he catalogued all this friend's responses to the various stimuli he was giving him, what turned him on, what speeds, what spots, what moves, what degree of lubricity, how many fingers . . . Then he heard John whimper a little.

"Fuck, shit, oh, god."

And now, the litany of obscenities and Molly's name. Sherlock identified John's approach to orgasm, and knew his friend wouldn't take much longer to come. _Will it be my name this time? Will my name be added to the litany? _Sherlock wondered, picking up his pace, letting go of John's hand, and gripping him around his waist hard, digging his fingers into his backside.

"Motherfucker, oh, god, Sherlock, fuck, fuck -."

_Ah_, thought Sherlock. _Lovely. Molly, too? I hope he says Molly's name, too. _Sherlock increased the pace of his fingers thrusting into John and was rewarded with a long stream of filthy words which ended with both his and Molly's name, but mostly 'fuck' and 'shit.' John came rather ferociously into Sherlock's mouth, bucking against him hard, completely unselfconsciously, and gripping his friend's hair, pulling his mouth closer to the root of his cock, his litany reduced to just the repetition of the word 'fuck' at the very end. Sherlock swallowed what he could and slowly released John from his mouth with an audible pop. He was gratified to hear a disappointed sounding coo from John at the loss of contact. _Oh, adorable, irresistible._ Then the younger man slid up in the bed and pressed his face into the crook of John's neck, throwing an arm across him, nuzzling him, kissing and biting him softly as John lay in his after glow.

_So like a child, _John thought as he came back to himself a little,_ so loving and giving and selfless. So happy to just be with us, so undemanding. So present, so in the moment. Incredible how, despite his persona outside we three, he's able to just enjoy us, just be. How lovely he is. _John put his arms around his friend and squeezed him hard until Sherlock let out a small sound of breath taken away, then a chuckle.

"Feels good."

"Mmm. Sherlock?"

"Mmm?"

"When you – said that thing, a few weeks ago, about – your mother never touching you when you were small – did you – did you -."

John stopped when he felt Sherlock stiffen in his arms. His friend didn't speak, so the doctor felt he had to go on. He was hesitant. Was he doing more harm than good? He had to ask, he couldn't just leave it here, now.

"I mean, that kind of thing can have a – the long term psychological effects on a child -."

Sherlock pulled his head away from John's neck, his eyes on fire, his mouth contorted.

"John. John– can you shut _up_, please? Don't you think I _know_ the long-term psychological effects on a child if it's fucking mother never touches it?" Sherlock spat the words out and rolled to get off the bed, but John held him hard.

"Don't, I'm sorry. Don't do that, no, stay _here_, please, Sherlock. Sherlock, _stop it._"

The two struggled for only a few moments and Sherlock gave in, stiffly at first, then with abandon to John's touch, his strength, his gentle command. John held him around the waist, and stroked his hair the way he knew he liked it. He brushed his friend's face with his lips. And then he found himself murmuring his friend's name over and over. After doing it two or three times, he thought it might be a little odd, but he found it soothed Sherlock, like the hair stroking. He continued, just very quietly murmuring his name. _He's like a child, so like a child,_ John thought, He tried to allow enough time to pass before he continued. He couldn't just let the matter lie where it at fallen. He hoped Sherlock would trust him enough to just listen.

"Ok, hey, – I ask because – I ask – oh, god. I haven't asked until now, because I thought it was a little personal, but now - well, frankly, I'm sucking your cock, so -"

The two had a small laugh together, a release of tension, relief.

"So – I'm asking now, because - because I want to know. Because I – we both do, Molly and I, we care about you – but look, I won't, all right? I won't ask - I'll wait until you _tell_ me. If you _want_ to, all right? Just _know_ that I want to hear about it, I want to know about it, when and if you want to tell me. Is that – is that acceptable?"

"Yes, of course. I'm – I apologize – that was extremely – well – it was _childish_, wasn't it?"

"Never mind that. Will you – keep that in mind? What I've just said? Please don't brush it off, love."

"Yes." Sherlock paused. "Yes, that is – acceptable. "When I'm – when I want to tell you," He finished in a hushed tone.

"Ok. Good – thanks." John reached for the duvet, which had migrated south to the edge of the bed, and flipped it up and over them, then he took his friend in his arms again, and squeezed him again, as hard as he could, until Sherlock made a little breathy sound.

"Umph. Feels good," Sherlock said.

"Yeah, it does."

* * *

The dawn light bathed the room in a soft glow as Sherlock blinked back to wakefulness, but it hadn't been the light that woke him. It was John's soft touch, his lips on Sherlock's cheek, his hands between Sherlock's legs.

"Hey, ok?" asked his friend. Sherlock noticed that John's role as a doctor seemed to seep into his private associations particularly intimate ones. His constantly pushing water at him, food, sleep. He smiled _Ah. _He felt John slip away from his cheek and neck, down to his abdomen, planting careful kisses there, stroking him. _Morning. Am I already –? Yes, completely erect, how embarrassing. _

"Mmm. Fine." Sherlock ran his fingers through John's hair.

"Good," John took Sherlock's rock hard erection in his hand and began gently stroking him. John spoke again.

"Tonight?"

"Mmm?" Sherlock was still a little groggy with sleep and now his senses were being further distracted with John's attentions this morning, this fine sunny day. _Is it sunny? _Sherlock wondered. He noticed that John was fully clothed, already, ready for work, but here he was back in bed with him, ready to -, to – _how delightful. _

"Will tonight be ok?"

"Ah, what – for what? _Ah." _Sherlock gasped as John took his erection into his mouth a little quickly and roughly, stroking up and down with some urgency. He paused a moment, leaving Sherlock to speak again.

"You know." And John was on him again.

"What? John? Oh, oh, John, that's -."

"Mmm," John agreed, humming onto his shaft. John used one, two and then three fingers in quick succession as he tried to bring Sherlock off quickly. The doctor was about to be late for work, but determined to take care of Sherlock before he left, since he had such a monster of an erection this morning. He also felt a little sheepish at having broached the subject of his friend's childhood with him the night before, and made a bit of a hash of it. He wanted to kiss it and make it better. He picked up his pace and was quickly rewarded with Sherlock's release. John didn't wait for his friend to recover before he spoke.

"Sorry I had to be quick, I'm about to be late, I'll see you later."

"John, let me – won't you let me -?"

"Ahaha, no, no – I'm late."

"Molly," Sherlock said, "Don't forget to call – shall I - ?"

"I won't, thanks, no that's ok, I'll call." John rose from the bed, now, and retrieved his bag, but Sherlock managed to sit up before he left the room.

"John? 'will tonight be ok' for _what_?"

John stopped and returned to Sherlock's side, sliding a hand to the back of his neck, gripping his hair and whispering in his ear.

"To have you. To make love to you, to _fuck_ you – to slip my cock into you and pump you until you lose your mind -?"

"Oh, god, John, yes, yes, with Molly?"

"Yes, of course - with Molly." John kissed Sherlock and let go of him, moving to the door.

"John, for godssake, come back! Just let me -."

"Ahaha. No, just – I'm fine - I have to _go_. It's only a short shift. Usual time?"

"Oh, _god_, John."

"Ahaha. See you later." John pulled a face and left the room.

Sherlock heard John wash his hands in the bathroom and then leave the flat. Then he heard the slam of the downstairs door. He looked at the clock. _What in the name of god am I going to occupy my mind with until five?! I'll have to go jogging today oh no I would have to purchase proper footwear what a bore well that would pass the time no I'll sleep I'll sleep I'll get some I'll never sleep today that's ridiculous the goddamn kitchen is sparkling clean I could clean the goddamn bathroom that would take me 30 minutes at the very most I could I can I could –_

Sherlock's mind drifted to John and he tried to imagine for the thousandth time what it would be like if – _I'll never survive this day oh I must go to the chemists I have to go to the chemists and get an enema probably very little to worry about but it's only polite isn't it? Purchase more lubricant and what about a, a, a, something to oh god! _Sherlock felt himself blush as he imagined buying a dildo from a specialty shop - or a butt plug. _Let's not get carried away though it would certainly pass the time interesting John Molly Molly John John Molly Molly John._

He looked at the clock – seven and a half hours and all he had to really do was go to the chemist's, and then actually administer the enema, but that would be done at the last minute. He cast his mind to John's wake up call this morning and smiled at this psychic break-through to which he owed his undying gratitude. He cast his mind back further to the night of the blindfold, and remembered being taken quite by surprise when John was so affectionate with him and then later when he had – _his mouth on me, his mouth – _Sherlock let the images of that night and of other nights with his lovely couple replay themselves in his mind and let himself just enjoy them, moving on to the new images as he finished with one. _So many, now_ he thought gratefully, hungrily. _And many more to come? _He wondered? He hoped so. If he had a choice, he would stay with them through eternity, but he knew that life was a twisted, cruelly unpredictable affair. _Surely they'll want to think about children, soon, why do they not consider children? Or perhaps they are, they do, but don't bring me into the conversation? Thinking up the right way to – to—break it off with me? _Sherlock put these thoughts aside, though he knew they were not unfounded. But he was confident that John and Molly would be direct with him if he asked them about it, all he had to do was ask. But he couldn't. It was too – too – nauseating. Such a cliché. _Just enjoy the moment._ And he found he was able to, and he was deeply grateful.

Sherlock drifted, finally into a light comfortable sleep as he played the images of recent and memorable nights over in his mind and he drifted into a dream state.

Mycroft figured largely in the dream. Mainly because he seemed to be quite _large_, his head, particularly was larger even than his large dream-body size warranted, like the drawings in Alice and Wonderland, the Queen of Hearts. And dream-Mycroft was standing with his huge head and face quite close to Sherlock's, talking and talking to him. But Sherlock couldn't understand or make out a single thing he said. 'What? What, Mycroft?' Sherlock asked again and again, to no avail. Sherlock noticed that his own voice and clothes in the dream were those of his much younger self, a boy. Mycroft kept talking, now much more animatedly, with large dream-hands gesturing. Mummy was there, partially obscured and standing behind Mycroft, silent, distant, out of reach as ever. Mycroft was too big to get around, too loud to shut out, even if he couldn't hear a thing he said. Sherlock laughed at dream-Mycroft and dream-Mycroft was infuriated, shouting and screaming, but seemingly making no noise at all.

Finally, mercifully, the dream shifted to another place completely separate from the first bit. Sherlock found that he was an adult now, and adult Molly and adult John were building something on the floor. Molly had moved off and John was entreating him to help him with blocks that seemed to contain letters and numbers, some kind of code. Now, Molly was returning with a new arm load of blocks, though she was smiling, as ever, through her labor. Neither one of them spoke, only smiled, and without words, Sherlock seemed to understand everything that was expected of him. Then Molly was suddenly in his arms, naked, kissing him, and John was close by smiling, and Sherlock felt safe. Quickly the dream shifted again and Sherlock found himself sort of flying or, really it was more of a floating, drifting lower and lower over some trees, until he fairly crashed into a leafy canopy, descending into the branches of a tree. He was able to grab a limb, and there were Molly and John, already in the trees, waiting for him, smiling.

Sherlock woke, smiling, refreshed, the excitement of the morning's news from John absorbed, though still wonderful, amazing. But the day was to be faced. It was a whole day. Six and a half hours of day time until -. Something must be accomplished. Ah, the chemists, and also –_Hmmm. There's time to sort it out,_ he thought. Sherlock rose from bed, smiling and relaxed and feeling better than he had in weeks, and shuffled to the bathroom. _I know, _thought Sherlock with a naughty smirk,_ I'll pay Molly a little visit. She might have some – toys I could use . . . Yes, naughty Molly will have whatever is needed, I've no doubt. _He smiled to himself and licked his lips.

* * *

_There you go._

_I was going to do another scene, the scene you __**really**__ want, But the chapter got too long!_

_SOON! I PROMISE. Ahaha._

_(next chapter for sure, and it won't be long to wait,_

'_cuz it's almost all written and just needs editing)_

_Overwhelmed by your responses to the last chapter, thanks so much to many of you who are following this story! _

_I know Jollock is a narrow ship, so if you fall off, I'm really sorry!_

_But if you liked even a little bit, I would love to hear it!_

_For you Sherlolly-ers: _

_HUGE naughty Sherlolly scene in next installment! She's so much fun! _


	31. The Thames - IV - The Big Scene (first)

_Sorry you had to wait a bit, today – got going late – SNAFU!_

_There's not even any river in this scene!_

_But it's all a scene about making up and stuff, so I've kept it under the same title._

_Unbridled Sherlolly, I'm totally serious._

_AND: THE BIG SCENE – no kidding, it's finally here. All Three Are Present_

* * *

_**The Thames IV – The Big Scene**_

_In which Molly and Sherlock have some serious quality time_

_And Sherlock and John do, too, while Molly joins them_

"Tonight, love? Are you sure? You feel - ready?" Molly was lounging in bed when John had phoned her from the clinic.

"_Well, how much longer, do you think ._ . .?"

"Hmmhmm," Molly laughed quietly. "No, indeed, it's not fair, is it? What did you two do last night? Kiss and make up?"

"_He did that at the park, actually, yesterday when we talked_."

"Kissed you outside, in broad daylight?"

"_Mmm, yes_."

"After Mycroft had just talked to you. Maybe Sherlock wanted him to see you. Wish I had been there. What did you two get up to last night in bed?"

"_It's ah – it's often referred to with a number - ."_

"Oh, I see." Molly smiled, wishing she hadn't missed _that, _but knew there would be other chances. "That's kind of a first time, I feel a little left out."

"_No you don't, you're just teasing me." _

"A bit. And you – you told him this morning, or are you going to tell him, you shouldn't spring it on him, I think - ."

"_No, no, I told – well, I asked him this morning. He seemed rather – you know - over the moon, I think – I mean if I do say so. It's time, it's time, love. I'm sure. Since that one night . . ."_

"Yes, when we bound him."

"_Yes – I've been -."_

"I know, I _know_ – it's been so lovely to watch, you've been so lovely with him, and then this wretched standoff of yours -."

"_Well, it's over, and we'll be together tonight. You've had a good sleep? You'll come tonight? We'll - well, we can wait if -." _

"Try and stop me. Usual time?"

"_Mmm. Love you." _

"Love you, too."

Molly rang off her mobile, and placed it back on the bedside table. She continued basking in the diffused light that streamed in through her blinds onto hers and John's bed. It was the daylight of midday, but the blinds and curtains darkened the room sufficiently for her to continue to lounge comfortably, a rare treat. She had no plans, now, until she was to meet John and Sherlock at 221B and she made a promise to herself to make none and be as idle as possible for the rest of the day after the incredible week she had had.

When she'd gotten home the night before she had collapsed on the bed, and directly fallen asleep, clothes and all. She woke some 5 hours later, and stripped, drawing a hot bath. She turned up the heat, and walked around the flat naked, eating a bowl of ice cream as the bath filled. She used her favorite bubble bath, and slipped in, lifting her ice cream into the tub with her. After the bubbles dissipated somewhat she was able to survey the topical 'damage.' John and Sherlock had left marks just everywhere on her body. Her feet, her legs, her hips her abdomen. Her breasts were just black and blue. And that was all she could see of herself from the chest down in front. Who knew what they'd done to her back. She squeezed her lower muscles, now, feeling the soreness, a bit of pain, and reveled in it. She squeezed her backside and felt the burn. During the week, Sherlock had had her there, and so had John. She arched her back at a particular memory of John. He had been able to let go for her so beautifully. She hoped he'd remember their moments when he had. _There is absolutely nothing like being properly fucked._ She thought, smiling, potent.

She set her empty bowl aside, and stretched her arms, lifting a leg out of the water, looking at herself. She'd never felt so sexually powerful and satisfied before. She'd never forget this feeling. _Sherlock and John must have a fight just about every month or so_, she thought. _Hmm, maybe every six weeks. Look at these marks_. Just beyond anything she'd ever had before. _Incanfuckingdescent_.

Molly continued to soak until the water started to cool off, then picked up a bottle of shampoo. She didn't feel like washing her hair, but knew she had to, god knew what all was in it. When she finished, she wrapped her hair up in a big towel, she returned for more ice cream, a new flavor now, induldged in some TV, drowsed on the sofa, paged through a book of photographs of Paris, and finally went back to bed. When she'd awakened this morning, or rather this noon, it was only about 5 minutes before John called after which she continued to lounge, this time in bed.

She considered the evening ahead of the three of them. She'd suspected she could turn John's mind to Sherlock from the beginning, when she'd first suggested to John that they come to Sherlock. She was also excited for Sherlock, she knew how much he was looking forward to getting closer to John in this way, to beginning this kind of new relationship. This kind of physical bond. She knew he'd be nervous, for all his ferocity. She wondered how he was doing.

"Well, I'm a little nervous, but I'm fine, I'll be fine." Sherlock had slipped silently into the room.

Molly wasn't a bit surprised or frightened.

"Hmmhmm, I thought you'd fixed our security system so we wouldn't get broken into, love? Yes, I was – I was thinking about you, exactly about that . . .how you might be doing."

"Yes, I fixed it - but I didn't fix it against _me_, darling." Sherlock smiled, peeling off his gloves.

"I was wondering when you'd show up. You look rested -?" Molly was naked, but partially obscured by a sheet and the relative dark of the room. A breast was showing, a hip and a leg. She made no move to cover herself, as she watched Sherlock strip out of his coat, and jacket, chucking them on the chair in the corner.

"Yes, I slept in a bit after John left for his shift. Had a very pleasant dream – about you two."

"Really?" Molly wiggled quite alluringly in her sheets, quite invitingly.

"Yes," Sherlock smiled, not moving, knowing when he was being teased. "And then some flying and floating, which I haven't had for a long time. Interesting. I wonder what Doctor Freud would say about it? And solving a puzzle all together, the three of us. A puzzle of random-seeming numbers and letters. And large, sort of blocks. It was, it was a bit like school, though we were grown up."

"Numbers? Were we adding one plus one plus one?"

"Hmmhmm. Possibly. And you? Did you catch up on some rest? I know we've been rather naughty with you, darling." Sherlock was standing at her dresser, leaning against it with an elbow, perfectly comfortable. Utterly elegant.

"Yes, I had a lovely evening. A lovely sleep, a lovely bath and I'm having a lovely long lie-in, as you can see." Molly smiled, but saw Sherlock wince as he took in some of the marks on her body.

"Oh, love, oh god." Sherlock approached the bed and reached down, picking up a corner of the sheet Molly was under. "May I?" He asked. Molly nodded, and Sherlock pulled the sheet away revealing a veritable crime scene. She saw him start at the sight of her.

"You must be scientific," Molly admonished, as she saw pain, guilt and shame wash across her friend's face. "And you must promise not to get upset, all right? I know you won't, not for long anyway. My plan for John is to stay in the dark until the marks go away. It will upset him, Sherlock, you understand, don't you? I reckon I can manage it, since the two of you will be – preoccupied with one another for a while. You must help me distract him from me, all right?" She tried to put Sherlock's focus on John, but she saw his eyes threaten tears.

"Sherlock, stop that! Now, don't be ridiculous, give me my sheet!" Molly snatched her sheet back, covering herself and continued. "Now, come here, darling."

"Molly, how on earth did you let us -?"

"Oh, please don't be silly, come here, come here right now." Sherlock toed off his shoes and stretched out next to her. They held one another.

"You must believe me when I tell you it was the most unbelievably thrilling week of my life – my adult life, do you understand that? To have you each, so needy and keyed up night after night – hmmhmm. It really satisfied a number of fantasies, didn't it? And the afternoon I thought I would sleep, and you were here, waiting – that was indescribable in case it needs mentioning. And I'm confident this won't happen again, hmm? Though that would make me very sad, to think it could never happen again. But no more disagreements – Well – I know it wasn't your fault. _And_ no more jumping off of things."

"Mmm." Sherlock kissed her hair and face, then gently pulled the sheet away from her neck, exploring the marks with his finger tips, identifying the marks he'd made himself apart from those that John had left by the size and shape, and the teeth marks in some cases.

"Oh, for godssake." said Sherlock.

"Scientific, love."

"Yes, yes." Sherlock pulled the sheet down, exposing her collar bone where there were more marks to look at. "Very – ah, colorful. They'll, – aghm," Sherlock clearned his throat, and struggled to be objective for Molly. "They'll remain for some time, I think, at least a week, certainly."

"No word of a lie."

"God. Ah, nothing for it but to let them - heal." Sherlock pulled the sheet lower still, to reveal her breasts. The black and blue was just everywhere, and he felt the blood rush from his head, dizzying him, slightly. "Oh, love," He breathed, seeing that the larger finger marks and bites were larger in number.

"They will go away, Sherlock, please don't make me send you home."

"No, no, you won't be able to make me, love. I – ." Sherlock was moved deeply by the marks on Molly's body, but he couldn't identify what it was exactly he was feeling. All he knew was that he suddenly had a raging, angry erection, and wasn't sure what he could do about it. He hissed as he recognized his own teeth marks on the side of one of Molly's breasts. Without thinking he leaned down and kissed the mark, but he was also compelled to bite the same place again. He stopped himself and only deposited a careful kiss. Molly's breath hitched, and she ran her hand through his hair as he leaned his head to her. Sherlock pulled the sheet down further to inspect her abdomen, kissing her, kissing her as he went, trying to be gentle, but getting more and more needy as he progressed down her body. She let him pull the sheet away from her hips and sex.

"Ah, Molly, love, you are so beautiful. And the marks – the marks – I don't know." Sherlock's mouth fell on her, kissing the marks, inspecting them, pushing her legs apart, looking at the insides of her thighs. One mark, his own, high up on her thigh, had broken the skin.

"Oh, god, love, I'm so sorry."

"It's fine, I've put some stuff on it, it's fine."

Sherlock continued to kiss the marks, and rub his face and cheek over her skin, moaning his regret, but also his desire. He spread her legs apart wider, and looked at her sex carefully. He got off the bed, and opened the blinds, letting daylight stream between Molly's legs. There were bites all inside the lips of her sex, big ones and smaller ones. One of John's marks had broken the skin.

"He's broken the skin here, you should watch it carefully, all right?" Sherlock touched her to show her where the mark was and noticed how wet she already was. _How flattering, _he thought, _and how delightful._ He peered up at her, his view of her face, just past her sex from his vantage point and he noted her particular expression. He smiled at her and licked his lips, then he slipped a finger inside her gently, gently, but deeply and felt Molly arch her back into the pleasure of it.

"All right, I'll, w- watch it." Molly managed.

"Aren't we a pair of shameful brutes?" Sherlock saw the mischief, need, the hunger in Molly's face as he very slowly started to fuck her with his finger.

"Yes, yes, you both are," Molly smiled and groaned, wondering what else Sherlock would do to her without her telling him what she wanted. For now, she just pulsed gently against his finger, oh, _two fingers, now, how lovely, shall we say three? Come on, give me three, give me three, you pagan, you animal, _she thought, her back arched, and she flung her head back. Now, from his vantage point, all Sherlock saw of Molly was her sex, her belly and the mountainscape of her breasts, her nipples hard.

"We should, ah, be ashamed of ourselves." Sherlock added a third finger, pressing into Molly carefully, gently, then lowered his mouth to her sex, licking her where and how he knew she liked it. She laced her fingers through his hair and pulled his mouth hard against her, grinding her sex against him. He let her guide his head, let her press hard against him, let her pull his hair hard, and then harder, relishing her power, her roughness with him. She came to a plateau quickly and panicked, not wanting this illicit moment to end so quickly. What to do, what to do? She managed to speak up.

"I'm – I'm close – but - I want you to fuck me as soon as I'm through with your mouth, right after I come, right after – do you ah – understand?"

"Yes, yes," Sherlock continued to lick her, his tongue moving as fast as he could make it, pumping his fingers in her and Molly came rather quickly and easily, shouting monosyllables in her release. He kept his mouth on her as she rode out her spasms, but she was already tapping him on the shoulder. He quickly knelt up in the bed between her legs, forcing her legs apart with his knees as he undid his trousers. He quickly released his erection and entered her, beginning to thrust hard, making her shout again and then again and again with each of his thrusts. Sherlock well knew that Molly could take care of herself, and that she often even preferred it, so he rode her fairly hard, and purely for his own pleasure. He smiled when he saw her open her eyes and make eye contact with him. It was an obscene smile, the smile of a wanton, and Sherlock watched as she reached a plateau, and then came, writhing forcefully beneath him, even under his powerful thrusts, shouting in time with his strokes. When he saw her plateau, he let go what little reserve he might have been holding onto and pounded into her, his release coming only a little time after she reached hers. He collapsed on her, his full weight on her, knowing how she liked it. He knew when she liked him to roll off her - just the moment before he might completely smother her.

They lay together for a time, and then looked at one another and laughed.

"I was never a smoker, but after I have sex with you, I very often wish I were."

Sherlock took a package of fags from his pocket and offered it to Molly.

"You naughty. What will you tell John?"

"No, I only bought them today, I haven't had any, I've been good. See? Unopened? You should keep them. I mean, away from me. How opportune, our meeting like this, hmm?"

"Ahaha," said Molly.

She opened the package, taking one out and Sherlock produced a lighter, lighting her up. Molly remembered a friend criticizing a film, remarking that a particular actor probably didn't smoke in real life, only pulling on the fag at the side of his mouth. Her friend had been a smoker, and said 'You put that thing right in the middle of your fucking face where it belongs.' Molly did so now, but carefully sucked it, only taking in a little smoke at first, breathing it in. Naturally she'd smoked before, but never liked it, and never got hooked. She concentrated on the fun of it as a prop, instead, blowing out the smoke, gesturing with it. She conjured some femme fatale as she twirled her wrist around.

"Oh, _Clive_! The sex with you, daaaah-link, is incanfuckingdescent!"

Sherlock chuckled, watching her.

"You are – you are so very -." Sherlock smiled, and laughed.

"So much fun?" Molly kissed him quickly, smiling.

"Yes, yes, I think so. Yes, that's what I mean." He leaned up on his side. "You are so much fun, Molly Hooper. Thank you for letting me – well for letting me shag you so inconsiderately and, and for loving it – I think?"

"Hmm, yes, of course, daaaahlink." Molly waved her cigarette, smiling the secret smile she and Sherlock shared. He leaned to her and brushed his lips and face against her neck, no kissing, no biting, just pure nuzzling and breathing. She let him breathe in her scent, nuzzling her hair, her collar bone, her breasts. He lowered his voice to his bedroom voice.

"And for letting me – in your life – I mean after I'd been such a boor to you those first years. And for, god, for _saving my life_ and – Molly – I –don't – you must never -."

"Oh, hush, you must shut up about that, love, can't you? We're _never_ letting you go! We can't do with out you." She stroked his cheek with her free hand. "Can't you see what you mean to us? And John – _John_ has fallen completely in love with you. I will not be surprised if you run away together and leave me."

"Oh, don't be _absurd_." Sherlock smiled and lay back in the bed, steepling his fingers below his chin, thinking about the evening before them. "Mmm."

"I know, I know," Molly soothed, "But we'll all be together, we'll be slow and careful, and it will be lovely after you get over the – you know – nerves."

"It's not the – ah, penetration, I'm quite, I'm quite -."

"I know."

"It's the – you _know?" _

"It's the new closeness, the progression, the change in our relationships, and what that will do to us. To you both. And all of us. You're afraid of us breaking up. Honestly, I don't think this is going to do that. Break us up."

"You know me so well. You see me, even more than John, sometimes, I'm sure of it. I know you do." Sherlock had a thought and a cloud of doubt shadowed his face.

"What is it, love?"

"Do I – do I know you well enough, Molly? Well enough for you? Do I get to the heart of you? The way you do me?"

Molly looked away, lowering her eyes, smiling to herself.

"I don't, do I.? It's – it's not good enough, is it?" Sherlock's brows were beginning to knit together. Molly was quiet and held still where she was sitting up in bed, reaching to the bedside table for some piece of plastic to put the cigarette ashes in.

"Molly – I – does _John_? Molly, does he?"

"Shh." Molly held very still, and didn't meet Sherlock's eyes.

"Oh, love, no, no, no, that will never do."

"Shh." Molly held still and hushed him.

"_Molly._" Sherlock was aghast, but couldn't help leaning across and taking her in his arms, cigarette and all, and burying his face in her shoulder.

"I will try to be better, I will try - to know you better. Will- will you let me?

"You do better than anyone, actually, She whispered and smiled at him, touching his cheek briefly.

"I will do better, love, I promise," Sherlock brought her hand to his lips.

"Shh, never mind, that, kiss, kiss."

Molly kissed Sherlock, hopped out of bed and put on a robe. It was a pale pink one with large flowers on it which put Sherlock in mind of a geisha. She picked up a comb from her dresser and started on her hair which was hopelessly tangled after her day in bed, and her bout with Sherlock. Sherlock watched with enormous affection as this tiny adorable creature started raking out the knots in her long lovely hair, of a peculiar shade of chestnut. Yes, he thought. Chestnut.

"Oh, – I did want to – That is – I didn't mean to come over and abuse you so – spontaneously. Though this was - mmm -."

"Heaven."

"Mmm. Yes. But, I did want to ask – that is, about tonight – I was wondering -."

"Oh, yes, I have just the thing, I'm sure, -." Molly flipped her comb onto the bed and dropped to her knees her cigarette in her mouth, and disappeared from Sherlock's view briefly. She seemed to be searching for something under the bed. Finally, she hopped up again, squinting away the cigarette smoke that was getting in her eyes, and hefted a full-seeming cardboard box to the end of the mattress.

"Here you go. I think this should do it."

"Molly, this verges on the telepathic."

"Don't be silly, you've been worrying, and thinking and getting excited. Now, here we are."

Molly opened the box, setting the lid aside, and Sherlock slid over to her at the edge where she perched next to the box. Inside was a quite spectacular array of dildos, and other sex toys, and he took them all in, cataloguing their probable uses and advantages in terms of their intended use.

"I haven't used a thing in ages – since we – well, since we – ."

"Since you married." They both knew this was still a sore spot for Sherlock, and they both tried to glide past it whenever it came up. Molly married John before Sherlock got back from 'the wars.' _But he still mentions it like this, with an arch in his eyebrow, with a look away,_ Molly noticed. _We'll have to talk it out one day._

"Since we came to you, love."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Sherlock smiled. "Perhaps - ." Sherlock selected a plain looking one of a hard plastic that seemed rather thicker than the rest.

"Yes," said Molly, "that's just about his size," and patted Sherlock's arm. But now that Sherlock had the thing in his hand he was a little embarrassed.

"Shall I – shall I use it -now?"

"Hmmhmm, no, love," Molly took the item away from him, setting it aside and replacing the lid on the rest of the items in the box, then replacing the box under the bed. "We'll wait for John. We'll use it tonight. That is – if we need to – Hmm?" She smiled patiently at Sherlock.

"I just want to - for it to be - ."

"Of course, love, but he'll want to use his hands, hmm?"

Molly threw her hair out of her face, and assured him with her best smile.

"We can have a toy night sometime, bring the whole box over, and try them all out on one another – oh, yes, we must do that – but not tonight. Best to keep it simple?"

"Yes, of course." Sherlock rubbed his face with his hands, and smiled at Molly. He reached his hand to hers, holding it, staring into her eyes, watching her carefully, trying to widen his perception of her.

"Fiercely independent. Fiercely. Despite stammering – in a – previous life."

Molly looked away.

"Mmm, yes. That might be part of the problem, you shy away from being known, don't you? Even from those closest to you, if I may say-. Yes, you do hide a bit behind that dazzling smile." Sherlock saw a smile on her face, but it was a sad one.

"Trust. Trust issues. But not with your parents – something else, some_one_ else -."

"Don't –Not now -." Molly sensed Sherlock was getting too close too fast. She didn't want things to get more complicated, not now. Sherlock saw the fear in Molly's eyes, and stood down. He had several avenues of deduction he was following simultaneously as he bore into Molly's eyes, but he had finally developed the sense not to dig at her now, when she'd just asked him to stop, so he desisted.

"All right." He kissed her forehead. "Another time, hmm?" Sherlock looked at her, trying to be comforting, but also wanting Molly recognize his determination to know her better, and to continue this particular line of investigation. He smiled and spoke gently.

"John and I spend a good deal of time alone together, by comparison, I suppose,." he said to her. "Only owing to his part time job, and my complete idleness when there is no case. I think – I think I need to – pencil you in – a bit more – into my _calendar_."

"You're never idle."

"Oh, Molly, I can't get any work done -. I've _cleaned the_ _kitchen_. You'll see. It's spectacular. I can't get any work done because of this – this-."

"John."

"Yes. Yes, _John_." Sherlock hung his head, then locked his gaze on her again, she didn't look away this time. He knew she was thinking back to their time alone together just after his jump from Bart's, and he too cast his mind back and remembered. He remembered her hair, her skin, her body, the sound she made, the scent of her. He remembered her need, her ardor and abandon.

"All I wanted then, Molly _all_ I wanted was for us to -."

"Shh, I know, I know, so did I -."

"But I couldn't – I couldn't _say_, I couldn't promise you – anything because I -, I thought, I _knew_ there was a very good chance that I would be killed - once I'd – Molly, I had to have – I _had_ to have -."

"Stop it, for godssake, you've said all this already - we don't have to – do all this again -."

"_I had to have you take care of each other_. Whether I came back or not."

"Oh, Sherlock. We take very good care of each other, love. I hope we're taking good care of you, now, too. Are we?"

For answer, Sherlock wrapped his arms around her, then pulled her up into his lap, brushing his face against her neck and breasts, nuzzling her gently. She combed her fingers through his hair, holding his head to her, and they held each other this way for some long moments.

"It shouldn't matter now, love," Molly said.

"No. And it doesn't, it doesn't – I just remember sometimes. I remember us."

"Me, too. I remember us. I remember you."

"Do you? What was I like?"

"Brutal, but lovely. What was I like?"

"You – you were -." Sherlock stopped to consider – "You were the first person I ever – who cared for me."

"Hmm. Loved. Love."

"Hmhmm." They stayed tangled in one another's arms for a time, and then looked into one another's eyes, affirming again their unbreakable bond. Then Sherlock cast about the room for a clock.

"What time is it?"

"Half three."

"Damn, I have to - sorry, love – chemists. I must - purchase an enema. Right?" Sherlock had hopped up from the bed and was putting on his jacket."

"Probably don't have to -." Molly was arranging her robe around her again, more to ward off a chill than for any kind of issue of modesty.

"Well, it's only good manners," Sherlock smiled and leaned down and licked Molly's ear before he turned to pick up his coat and gloves from the chair.

"Sherlock?"

"Mmm?"

"Trousers."

"Ah" Sherlock did up his trousers. "Anything else missing?"

"Just a case."

"Only emergency cases from Lestrade until such time as I get used to – to – to being so -."

"To being so happy with us?"

Sherlock leaned in and kissed her on the mouth. Then he lowered his voice to his intimate bedroom tone and whispered in her ear.

"_I will know you better, Molly Hooper. It's a promise_."

He stopped at the door.

"Usual time – I – I - ." Sherlock was bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Yes, I'll see you soon."

He winked at her and he was gone.

* * *

John washed his hands in the clinic loo and as he dried them he caught site of his face in the mirror. _ Going to shag a bloke tonight are we? What am I now? What am I now? I'm – I'm – _He couldn't answer his increasingly annoying inner voice as it continued to question him and his sexuality. He noticed his hands shaking a bit. Not the PTSD tremor, but something else, both hands. _What's this? _He thought. _Been going at it full force, but now that we're talking about actual – oh good lord. _He couldn't say the word. _Say it, say it – no one will hear it in your mind. Penetration. Yeah, that's what we're talking about, Johnny-boy, that's what it is. Not just kid stuff anymore, locker room rough humour. Gonna be a regular bummer tonight, the real thing. No wonder your hands are shaking. _John recognized that the years of society's programming were coming to the fore in these remarks from his inner voice. He felt as though he were in school again. How would he handle a bully? Never easy when you're the one being bullied. Nor, indeed when the bully is yourself. He took in his reflection. _I'm in love with them. Piss off. _He chucked the bit of paper towel into the bin and returned to his office.

As he prepared to leave the office later in the afternoon, Sarah popped her head in the door.

"A few of the girls and I are going to the Crown? Want to escort us?"

"Oh, I can't – it's -."

"Just one or two?"

"Hmm, can't." John smiled and shook his head.

"No? I guess she's quite a lucky girl, John Watson."

_You don't really think that._

"No. _I_ am. I'm the lucking one." John looked away and smiled a small smile.

"Ooo, John, it looks like the honeymoon continues?"

"You could say that." John could feel his ears burning, his face flush.

"That's a lovely shade. Suits you. Hmmhmm. Ok, have a lovely evening. See you Monday." She pulled her head out of the office, and closed the door behind her.

Three, two, one . . .

John heard the predictable titter of women's voices down the hall. He'd correctly foreseen that Sarah would dash to her pub-bound group of female clinic workers and tell of her exchange with him. Never mind. All in good fun. _Ahaha_. He found he could laugh at himself as well. However, he thought, if he could only see Sarah's face at the news of what he was _actually_ looking forward to tonight, he would have a _really_ good laugh. He set out on his walk home – to 221B Baker Street. To Molly. To _Sherlock_.

Sherlock, _Sher_lock. He thought as he walked. John's head was swimming, quite spinning out of control as he approached the door to the flat. He felt a little weak as he mounted the stairs. _So wrong, so wrong, so right. How, _he thought, _how can I still be conflicted, but still looking forward to it? _He remembered the illicit boyhood experience. Same thing there. Feeling bad, feeling bad, then feeling incredible. Then feeling bad again. _It will just be an ongoing struggle for self-acceptance, _ he thought, _along with all the other things one works through, this will become another one. _ When he opened the door, Sherlock was leaning against the wall, waiting for him, holding a bottled water in his hands.

"Hey."

"Hey. All right? You look a little pale. Here, drink half of this for me, please?" Sherlock smiled and raised an eyebrow.

"Thanks. Um. Yes, I'm a little – nervous. I think." John accepted the water.

"To be expected. Ah, there's the pot. Tea?" Sherlock trotted off to the kitchen. "Sit down, John, relax – if you can. Hmmhmm." John heard Sherlock chuckle, but decided to take his advice and sat in his chair. Sherlock set an enormous tea tray with sandwiches as well as biscuits on the desk. He remained standing, unable to relax enough to sit.

"Needs a few minutes. I've – uh, tried to keep busy. With little inanities. I cleaned the bathroom. I went to the chemists – you know to get - ."

"Hmm, yes, there was probably no need."

"Perhaps, aghm, but all clean, nonetheless. I am – a little afraid of quite devouring you whole this evening John Watson."

John smiled, taking in his friend standing before him. Excited, nervous, but under control, a kind of forced reserve. After all it was only a couple weeks ago they were playing the game of 'how to kiss John when he comes in the door.' _Where's my kiss?_ John thought to himself.

"Come here." John put his hands on the arms of his chair and uncrossed his legs.

"Hmm?" Sherlock was unprepared for a command.

"Come here, love. Sit – in my lap."

Sherlock smiled. _Ah, now he's taking initiative. How delightful. _

"What, John? In your -?" _Oh, say it again, and say my name, you know I love it when you do -._

"Sit. In my lap. Sherlock."

_Ah. _Sherlock approached John's chair, carefully, smiling. He leaned down and put his hands on the arms of the chair, close to John's hands without touching him. His face was close to John's now, and the two locked gazes, Sherlock's questioning, amused, John's a little staid, but relaxed though still commanding. Sherlock eased himself down, slowly, sitting on John's legs, _his lovely thick muscular thighs,_ until his full weight was on his friend. Sherlock's hands were still on the arms of the chair as he smiled into John's face, expectant.

"Ok? I'm not too heavy?"

"Not at all. Put your arms around my shoulders." Sherlock did so, smiling. Then he leaned his face in to John's neck, brushing his neck with his mouth and chin, lightly, lightly, then his ear and cheek.

"_Love you, John_," Sherlock whispered in his ear. John leaned in to Sherlock's ear, and whispered back.

"_Love, you_._ Um, do that some more, um, what you were – on my neck_-." John let his head loll back on the chair, and Sherlock continued to lightly brush the skin with his mouth. Slowly, Sherlock incorporated little bites then he was tonguing John's skin, swirling his tongue around, and lapping his neck in wider licks, not able to get enough of John's salty taste.

"_Sher_lock," John was unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt.

_Yes, say my name, I love the way you say it, _thought the detective. John found one of Sherlock's nipples and squeezed it gently, then leaned in and tongued it, nipping at it.

"_Sher_lock," said John, and repeated his friend's name several time. Sherlock slipped down, slouching into John, comfortably cuddling the doctor in his chair. John's hands reached into his friend's hair, rubbing his scalp and smoothing his curls as he repeated his name softly, quietly in his ear. John smiled and noticed that his friend was only resting his hands on the doctor's shoulders now only holding still in his arms, letting John soothe him, stroke him and murmur to him. He noticed Sherlock's breathing become deep and regular. He kissed his friend's forehead.

"Mmm? Too heavy?"

"Not at all, not at all." John gently reassured him. The doctor remembered that Sherlock had asked if he had been too heavy another time, when he was about to fall asleep across John's chest in bed. _Had a parent repeatedly told him he was too heavy? Had his mother refused to hold him for being too heavy? Did he hardly ever eat for being told he was too heavy? Jesus Christ. But I mustn't ask, I've promised. He'll tell me when he wants to._

John assessed the picture they seemed to make. Man holding man. Only a few moments ago they had been about to devour one another whole, as Sherlock had put it. But now, this. John took it as a testament to the trust that Sherlock had in their friendship and – and their – their. _What? Our what? What are we? What am I? Bond. Our bond. Our deepening sexual bond. Oh god, no. But that's what it is! That's what it is. A bond. A bond of - love. And friendship. _John was happy with the word. It was simple and said what it needed to, without too many bizarre labels or taboos. _My friend. My colleague. My bond mate. Christ oh Jesus Christ, oh, no, no, no. My lover. Oh, god, my lover. My male lover. 'Good afternoon, ah, your majesty, this is my wife. And my male lover. And bond mate, by the way.' Oh for godssake. _

"Stop it, John_." _Sherlock whispered.

"What?" John asked.

"Thinking. It's annoying. And you're wrong."

"What am I wrong about exactly?."

"The way you're feeling. You're feeling conflicted, and you know you needn't be. Anyway. Stop it. The thinking. It is still annoying_."_

"Ahaha." John leaned in brushing Sherlock's mouth with his own, letting his tongue just brush his friend's lips, asking permission and Sherlock responded, kissing him back, answering with his tongue, mirroring John's movements, but it was slow, tender, unrushed. Sherlock paused.

"What were you thinking about?" Sherlock was still whispering, it seemed, so John joined him, finding that the tone was more appropriate to the topic at hand.

"I was thinking that you're my - lover. My male lover."

"Mmm. Well, yes, that's accurate."

"And that we have a – a bond. Of um – of – friendship and ah, aghm, love."

"Hmmhmm. Yes."

"What's funny?"

"That would make us bond mates. Hmhmhm. That's funny."

"Well, that's what – that's what we would be and I -."

"Who, John, to whom do you need to say these things? Do you need to introduce me to the duke and duchess or something? Or my brother? Do you need to submit some _report_ or something?"

"A _report_? To Mycroft? _What_? Don't be ridiculous, but how did you know I was - I don't know – I – myself?"

"No, John. Please just call me Sherlock. Hmhmhm. But, I do love that you're so forthright with me when I ask, you're so lovely and open with me. You can't know what that means to me. I – I – Oh, John" Sherlock suddenly remembered "Tonight? You're sure?"

"Mmm. Perfectly. If you want to?"

"Oh, god John, you needn't ask."

"But, um, a little nervous."

"Me, too. But, it's quite - _delightful_._" _Sherlock buried his head in the crook of John's neck, and John held him, stroking his hair, murmuring his name quietly. And this is how Molly found them.

* * *

Molly popped her head in the door of the flat to see her two men cuddled up in the arm chair. _Adorable –_ she wanted to go get the duvet and envelope them in it.

"Molly, love, I've started the tea too soon, again."

"S'all right, I'll do a new pot. Sorry, I didn't want to disturb you – napping?"

"No, love," John kissed Molly, "You're not disturbing anyone. And it's time for tea. Sherlock's getting quite domestic, look." John indicated the sandwiches on the tea tray.

"Lovely," Molly took the teapot off to the kitchen.

Sherlock and John stood next to one another while she was out of the room – a little stupid – a little shy. John reached out and took one of Sherlock's hands in his.

"It's ok." John said, "We don't _have_ to – tonight. But, I'm – I'm ready."

Sherlock smiled.

"Ha," he said.

* * *

Tea was done and there was a pregnant pause after the final click of the final tea mug being replaced on the tray. All three sighed a post parandial sign and laughed at the coincidence.

"That happened on our first night together, all three of us, after we were finished eating. We drank three bottles of wine. Do you remember?" Molly said.

"Yes," Sherlock remembered with some reverence. He remembered every moment and replayed the evening in his mind quite often.

"Hmm, sounds familiar," said John.

"Yes, just before John started his talk - ."

"Oy, you make it sound as though I was long winded. I know I – was a little – ah – bashful, but I didn't stammer. Did I? Did I stammer? Was I an idiot? Sherlock?"

"No, no, you were lovely,?" Molly soothed.

"Was I lovely, Sherlock?" John asked with a smile.

"Yes, John, you were. That night was – John, Molly, it was breathtaking. I have often wondered. How did you see – that I was – that I was -?"

"That you were lonely for us?" Molly smiled.

"Yes, yes, that – and that I would _entertain_ such an arrangement? It's not a very-."

"Not a very _normal_ request?" Molly tilted her head.

Sherlock smiled and closed his eyes. He let the feeling of being thoroughly understood flow through him.

"She does that to me, too, you know. It's not just you. Just reads me. It's almost like you." John stood up and stretched, then took Molly's hand, kissing it, then he approached Sherlock and held out his hand.

"Come on. It's early, but why don't we all just get comfortable, just relax, see what happens?"

"I think that's the way to think about, John, Sherlock. Relax and see what happens." Molly kissed her husband on the mouth, licking him lightly.

"Yes, come – come to my bed – well, come to bed." Sherlock led the way.

In the bedroom, Sherlock made sure John was turned away from Molly so she could undress and slip into her robe quickly without him seeing her bruises and love bites. He distracted John with gentle holding and touching, and then Molly was at their side.

"I would love to watch you take one another's clothes off, my loves." She kissed each one of them, then got into the far side of the bed, leaving plenty of room, pulling the duvet out of the way of way, and fluffing it up around her.

John and Sherlock divested one another of their clothes while only lightly kissing and caressing. They managed to remain controlled, breathing regularly as they went, managing the deeper passions that were pressing out from within each of them.

Molly's head swam as she watched them kiss and hold one another after the last pair of pants, the last sock was thrown away. It was so lovely to see them both so deeply invested. It was a lovely kiss, she thought, light and tender, then more and more urgent as they pressed together, holding one another harder and harder, thrusting together already as their bodies started to take over. They relaxed a little at length, and John spoke.

"Get in the middle, Sherlock," said John and noticed Sherlock cock an eyebrow and smile at him. "Yes, I know you like the middle best, go on."

Sherlock smiled, sliding into bed next to Molly, kissing her.

"You look so lovely together," Molly smiled, and Sherlock lingered, scrutinizing her carefully, cataloguing every move, determined to make good on his promise to know her better, watching her more carefully than he ever had, even at this moment in their lives. Then he kissed her cheek and smiled, turning to John, keeping one of her hands in his.

John was lying on his side propped up on an elbow. As Sherlock leaned back toward him, John reached for him, kissing him, lightly at first and then with more heat, pressing against him, rutting his own erection against Sherlock's leg. _So much for relaxing and seeing what happens. _For his own part, Sherlock's nervousness had vanished, now as well, and he dropped Molly's hand with a squeeze to put his full attention on John and his more and more heated advances. The doctor was gripping Sherlock's shoulder now, his other hand stroking his length, as the two continued to kiss, lick and bite one another. Quickly John slid down to take Sherlock's cock into his mouth.

"Oh, for godssake, John, don't, I won't be able to-."

"Just for a minute, come on, it's your first time, enjoy it?"

"Hmhmhm, don't worry about it, but honestly, John -."

John licked and sucked Sherlock for just a few moments and then slid back up to Sherlock's level, kissing him, and they both smiled, laughing as they joyfully nipped and licked at one another. After some moments of this play, John took Sherlock's cock in his hand, holding the base of him, carefully, but firmly. Sherlock hissed.

"_Ah_, John."

"All right? You won't come yet, will you love? Is that all right?" John was kissing and biting his neck.

"Yes, yes, ah-." Sherlock's voice was strained and desperate already.

"Molly." John reached out a hand, and Molly squeezed a bit of lubricant on his fingers. John reached down between Sherlock's legs, and entered him with one finger, then two, thrusting carefully into him, kissing him. He whispered in his ear.

"Now, love, I have - ah -no interest whatsoever in hurting you or - ah -surprising you or being rough at all, at _all_, so please tell me – I-, I – don't want to hurt you, you must tell me if I do -."

Sherlock smiled.

"_Please_, don't worry. Go on, use three – _ah, _yes, that's good that's lovely -._"_

John added another finger and was thrusting a little harder into Sherlock, scissoring his fingers, carefully opening his friend little by little.

"Molly, love; I think he's a little close already?" John asked, starting to position himself over his friend.

Molly took Sherlock's cock in her hand, and held it hard at the base.

"All right, Sherlock?"

"Yes, ah – god, John, love -."

"You ok? We can wait -."

Sherlock took John's face firmly in both hands, lifting the doctor's mouth to his, biting his lower lip, pulling it with his teeth. Molly hissed as she watched Sherlock grip John's neck, pulling him toward him.

"I'm ready, John, _please_."

"Ok, ok, Molly?"

Molly handed John an opened condom and he put it on as quickly as he could. His hands were shaking, and John expected another visitation from his inner voice, but none came. _Good, _thought John, _fuck off and good riddance._ Sherlock noticed John was trembling a little harder than was perhaps necessary.

"Take deep breaths, slowly, go on." Sherlock smiled encouragement and John did as his friend suggested, breathing in deeply, regulating himself.

"Good, good, it's all right."

The two men exchanged reassuring glances. John used some more lubricant on the condom, and leaned up over Sherlock, supporting himself with one arm, and pressed his tip against Sherlock's hole, locking eyes with him. Sherlock's needy expression was all the permission John needed and he sank his tip into his friend. As he felt the head of his cock press into Sherlock he hissed as his friend's ring of muscle tightened hard around the tip. At the same time he watched as Sherlock's face contorted with the pain of his entry, and John had a moment's regret at being the one to cause it. He gripped his friend's jaw, stroked his cheek.

"Ok?" He managed to ask, though he himself was struggling for control.

Sherlock took in John's somewhat worried expression, and smiled, reaching for his friend's cheek.

"It's good, John, it's so good." His mouth remained open and his breath was fast and shallow as he relished the beautiful burning sensation John was giving him. John was holding him hard, trying to hold still, but Sherlock strained to move against his friend.

"It's all right, love, you can move. Move, _please_."

John pressed farther into Sherlock, about half way and watched his friend arch his back into it, moaning loudly, grimacing against the pain, writhing with the pleasure.

"Oh, god, John it's so good. Please, _please_ -."

"I will, just a second, it's – Oh, god you're so tight, it's hard to –."

Suddenly, John could feel Sherlock's muscle relax slightly, and he was able to lean into him pushing the rest of the way past the Sherlock's almost painfully rigid muscle to the spongy alley beyond. John felt his balls make contact with Sherlock's skin and he immediately felt Sherlock constrict around him – but he was all the way in. He looked down at his friend, stroking his cheek, kissing him and Sherlock opened his eyes. They held one another for a long moment, trembling together.

"Love you, John."

John leaned down to Sherlock's ear.

"Love you, too."

Sherlock looked up at John with a bit of disappointment in his face and John remembered.

"Love, you Sherlock. _Sher_lock, _Sherlock_." and John started to move into him.

"Oh. God. Yes." Sherlock hissed as John started to move, now, powerfully, though slowly at first, then gradually pick up the pace.

"You're so tight, it's incredible, Sherlock, you're going to make me come so hard. Molly, love stay close, come, come here, love," John beckoned Molly and she slid up to the pair in bed, leaning up to kiss John as he thrust and thrust into his friend. Then she leaned down to Sherlock who reached into her hair, grabbing a fistful, and pulled her to his mouth, sucking and biting her lips.

"Stay close, love, hmm? " John began to thrust harder into Sherlock and angled up, as he tried to get a sense of where's Sherlock's prostate was with his cock. After some long moments, he leaned down to his friend, kissing him.

"I'm going to come out -."

"John, no don't - I -."

"Shh, just for a moment, ok, turn to Molly, and open your knee out, good." John positioned himself behind Sherlock, and re-entered him, pulling his friend back against him, partly on top of him. Sherlock moaned loudly at John's re-entrance.

"Come here," John leaned up and Sherlock reached around and they kissed as John began to thrust and then pound him from behind, angling his cock up, searching -.

"_There_, John, oh, _god_ -."

Molly slid into place beside Sherlock, kissing him.

"Did you find his special place, John, love?"

"Ah, I think so."

"Oh, I'm so glad," she purred, licking Sherlock's lips. "I know a special place, too."

Molly slid down to Sherlock's abdomen, taking his cock in her mouth, cradling his balls in her hand, occasionally reaching down to do the same to John.

"Ahaha, Molly," John wasn't expecting this extra contact.

"Oh for gods_sake_, _Molly._" Sherlock arched his back into the state of bliss in which he now found himself. He could hardly process all that he was feeling. His face and neck, and indeed the rest of his and body were on fire from John's possession of his back, and his cock was about to explode from Molly's lovely attention to it and he found he was gently grinding back and forth between his _bond mates – hmhmhm,_

"What's funny, love?" John asked.

"Nothing, it's just – ah so good." Sherlock answered as John reached up to his mouth, kissing him as he picked up the pace.

He felt completely possessed by them, wholly in their safekeeping. _Is this?_ _This is what I've been searching for - they're here now – oh fuck –_

John was now brushing across Sherlock's sweet spot with every stroke, as he tongued and nipped one of his nipples, then he leaned up and pressed his mouth against Sherlock's ear.

"Come for us love, hmm? Come in Molly's pretty mouth for us, won't you?"

Sherlock didn't need asking twice, he was already too far gone to even acknowledge John's words.

"John, love?" _Where's John? Molly? Lie down, lie down, I'm going to float away! _Nothing meant anything anymore as Sherlock's world became a chaos and the prickly heat in his body seemed to escalate and was almost unbearable as his body lurched into uneven involuntary spasms. He shouted his friends' names, bucking and pitching, moaning loudly, as he spilled his release into Molly's mouth.

"Fuck, shit, motherfucker, oh, god, Molly, Sherlock, Sherlock, _Sherlock._" John finished almost immediately after Sherlock, collapsing into the mattress, holding his friend around the shoulders.

After Molly swallowed what she could, and cleaned up what she couldn't, she leaned in and kissed Sherlock's mouth. She didn't take it personally that he wasn't able to respond, actually, that was what she was after. She wanted to possess his mouth, knowing he was still completely delirious. She ran her tongue along his teeth, and nipped at his lips Then she pulled his lower lip with her teeth, as she had seen him do to John, then she let go of him. She smiled into his face, but his eyes were still closed, and he was still utterly senseless. _Good job, John. _She turned her attention to her husband, who was already coming back to himself. She had to reach across Sherlock a bit, but she managed to kiss John, as well, who smiled a little sheepishly, and even more bashfully, when he saw Molly twinkle her most mischievous grin at him. _Pagan goddess, my wife. Makes me a pagan god, doesn't it? No, no, I'm just the court jester. She's the goddess and he's the god. Anyone can see that he is._ John begrudged it not a bit, as he slipped softly out from under his friend, letting Sherlock collapse back into the mattress. John clung to Sherlock's side, gently nuzzling his neck, not done with him yet, unable to get enough of him.

"John, Molly. Molly, John." Sherlock started to come back to himself a little and Molly and John continued to be attentive to him.

"We're here, love," Molly soothed, stroking his hair.

"Right here, love," John tenderly sucked a nipple, then the other, still stroking Sherlock, kissing and caressing. Sherlock reached down, grasping John's shoulders, gripping him, then hauling John up to his level, kissing him, nuzzling him. John took his cue, and put his hands into his friend's hair, stroking him, and murmured his name. Sherlock gripped his friend around the waist, and dug the fingers of one hand into the skin of John's backside as John continued to whisper his friend's name in his ear.

Molly smiled at this behavior, John murmuring Sherlock's name. _Something new they've found together. Jealous. But it's so adorable._ She reached for the duvet and pulled it up over the three of them, but she stayed a little apart, not wanting to interrupt their intimate moment.

"Molly?" Sherlock asked, opening his eyes, reaching for her.

"Stay close, love, stay close," John reached his hand to her and Molly slid into place next to Sherlock. They held each other for a time, just breathing quietly, while Molly and John stroked and caressed Sherlock, nuzzling him, kissing him, murmuring his name.

_Molly, John, John, Molly _he breathed.

One by one, they dropped off into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

_There it is – Let me know what you think!_

_More fun and a little angst for three on the way – Ahaha._

_I know it's not everyone's ship – I hope I do not offend :-D_

_But if you like it a little, let me know. _

_Many thanks to those of you who are following and for the PM's and reviews,_

_Soooo nice when I hear from you._


	32. The Wee Hours

_Gotta have a little follow up to the big scene, n'est pas?_

_So, it's the same night . . . But I figured I wouldn't title it under 'Thames' anymore._

_In which our three conjecture as to whether or not a certain special someone knows about them._

_In which John continues to have doubts._

_In which John and Sherlock almost have another big fight but make up to Molly's satisfaction._

_In which Sherlock finds himself a bit frustrated._

* * *

_**The Wee Hours**_

"She _knows_," Sherlock whispered.

"No, she doesn't," John also whispered.

"I think she must, she just must, John." Molly was talking softly but saw no reason to whisper, it seemed silly to her as they had all just been moaning and fairly shouting about a half an hour earlier.

"John, she said that _thing_ a few days ago, don't you remember?" Sherlock said.

"Oh, she just mentioned some late night noise. Might have been anything. Might have been cats or -."

"Oh, _John_," Sherlock couldn't help laughing quietly, "Hmhmhm, I'm very sorry but you're deluded."

"_What_?"

"I'm sure she knows, John. She sees that we stay over every single night, well, practically. She's not an _idiot_."

John was silent. _You're still hanging on to an image of yourself that no longer exists, Johnny-boy, you fucking idiot. Molly's right, you're an idiot. Say goodbye to it. Say farewell to 'normal,' say ciao to 'customary' say bonne nuit to 'traditional.' It's over. You're a deviant. A pervert. A fucking head case. Not to mention a proper bummer as of this very evening. Or morning. Or whatever it is._

"No, no. She's not an idiot," John conceded, unable to conceal how Molly's remark had cut him.

"Oh, John, I didn't mean -."

"No, no, you're right,_ I'm_ the idiot, _I'm_ the -."

"John," said Sherlock.

"No, no, don't -." John avoided Sherlock's touch, and turned to the dark side of the room, like a Victorian bride. Sherlock rolled his eyes and pursed his lips.

"John, love? Will you, ah, turn back to us, please?" Sherlock didn't touch him, just waited for him and John finally turned in bed back toward Sherlock, who was facing him. "Thank, you," Sherlock must have smiled, John thought, he could hear it in his voice, but couldn't see him, since everything was dark. He accepted Sherlock's light touch, on his arm, and then around his shoulders, pulling him closer to him.

"Sorry. I was being - an _idiot, _apparently."

"John, I never meant -." Molly was very remorseful. She reached her hand past Sherlock's head, and stroked John's face. He took her hand and kissed it.

"Mrs. Hudson is _fine_ with it John," Sherlock said.

"How do you know _that_?"

"Well, she mentioned to me just the other day that she thought that Molly was a _particularly_ lucky girl and then she winked very naughtily at me."

"Well," John smiled now, "she _is_, aren't you, Molly?"

"Ahaha, of course I am." said Molly with a genuine twinkle.

"Yes, of course, John, but she stressed the word _particularly_ in a rather lewd manner and she gave me a dirty wink. Mrs. Hudson doesn't do dirty winks usually. John, love, if you'll let me I'll just tell you, all right? She _knows_."

John put aside Sherlock's remark and continued to imagine other reasons for Mrs. Hudson's dirty little wink. "Well, she might think that _you're_ having an affair with Molly." John suggested.

"John, you're _both_ here every night, _together_, in my flat, _every_ night _all night_, making _noise_ with me, love."

"Still, it doesn't necessarily establish -."

"_Oh_, John. _Really_." Sherlock gave up.

"I'll ask her," said Molly.

"Ahaha. Ahahahahaha. _What_?"

"What? I'll have a word. We'll have girl talk. I'll take her to lunch, or, I know, _tea_, but a fancy tea somewhere."

John was starting to panic.

"Why – why exactly would you do that?"

"See what she knows. See if there are any problems."

"She's _fine _with us. Her neighbour has 'married ones,' remember?" Sherlock said and continued. "She loves us, John. But she doesn't know Molly as well. I think it's a splendid idea, Molly, dear, she will fall in love with you, too, if she hasn't already by association."

John was quiet again. _See, see what happens? The world begins to know. You can't keep this kind of deviant freak behavior a secret. Not with meddling busy bodies like Mrs. Hudson in the picture, and further more -." _

"Mrs. Hudson isn't nosy, John. It's her building, she wants to know who's going in and out, and what's going on. I'm sure she'd keep it to herself. She certainly would if I asked her to. Would you like that, John? Shall I ask her to keep it a secret?"

"Oh, god." The very notion of Sherlock descending to Mrs. Hudson's flat, knocking on her door, having tea and biscuits with her, and requesting that she keep the little item about how he and John and Molly were all screwing every night together made John's head spin. It was too much, just too much to admit to Mrs. Hudson. He'd rather keep it a secret. He'd rather pretend it wasn't true.

Sherlock saw that John was struggling again. He knew it was uncomfortable for John, but that it was only John who could deliver himself from this sort of torture. He felt helpless and tried to think of some way he could help his friend.

"I wish – I wish – I could -." Sherlock couldn't finish.

"What? You wish something, Sherlock?"

"I wish I could help you, John. More than to just say not to worry, or that it's ok. How – how can I help you?"

"You're right, of course. You can't."

John crossed his arms, his shoulders strained, building tension there and in his neck, as well. At times like this he really wanted to hold Molly, pretend his normal life still existed, even if he wouldn't return to it if he had a choice. Sherlock knew John needed Molly at these moments, and he took his cue.

"Oh, I've got to - ." He slipped out of bed, ostensibly to go to the loo, stroking Molly's hair as he went, knowing that she knew what he was up to. Directly he was gone, Molly slid over to John in the bed, and held him.

"You were so lovely with him tonight."

"Oh, love. Shhh."

"What's that? Regret?"

"No, no, not at all. Just. Ah, adjustment."

"Ah, that's a good way to think of it."

"Yes."

The pair were quiet for a time, as Molly held and stroked her husband's hair, kissing his cheek and neck gently. Sherlock had still not come back from the bathroom, and Molly suspected he was staying away a little longer than he really needed to, and was doing it for John's sake. She smiled to herself. She could pay a little attention to John. Make him feel better, assure him. She kissed him and he responded gently, his old self, stalwart, firm but attentive and lovely. She adored him. He stroked her hair. _I can't live without him._ He drew a knee up between her legs and pushed her back against the mattress, pulling the dressing gown out of his way, but leaving it mostly in place.

"John, sweetheart, oh love, oh, yes, please."

He entered her smoothly and she answered with a satisfied monosyllable, squeezing her muscles around him. However much she appreciated Sherlock's roughness and animal charm in bed, she was equally attached to John's simplicity and tenderness. She loved it when he simply and frankly, laid her on her back, and moved on top of her.

"Missed you," he murmured to her.

"Mmm."

"Miss you whenever I'm not with you. Molly."

"Mmm, John. Love you."

"Love you."

Sherlock entered quietly, but lingered in the door, hesitating.

"Come, Sherlock," John beckoned, and since it was John calling him, he slipped into bed. He slid close enough to touch but tried to find a balance to give them John and Molly their space, too. John, he knew, would have to have more time to adjust to – doing what they'd done tonight, Sherlock thought. _Ridiculous to think he'd be over his hesitations so quickly. _Even so. They were all together - they were still all right, weren't they?

"Sherlock," John reached a hand to him, smiling. "Come love, come to us."

Sherlock slid closer and miraculously, John leaned to him and gently brushed his lips with his own, then more aggressively, kissing him, his lips wet and hot as he gently moved into Molly, picking up his pace.

"John, ah John," his friend was moved by John's initiation of this contact, of any contact and couldn't help but murmur his thanks whenever he did. And Molly felt the same way. Whenever she saw John reach to kiss Sherlock or take any other initiative action toward their friend, she fairly fainted with pleasure. She was close to a plateau now, which found her cooing and moaning to John, and John answered by putting his hand between their bodies, and placing his thumb in just the right place. The contact made Molly fling her head back and abandon herself to her body's responses, completely releasing, shouting John's name, and then Sherlock's. John quickly began his litany of curses and was finished.

"Ah, lovely, John," Sherlock murmured, kissing John's arm lightly, stroking his hair. Molly lay on her back, smiling and stroking John, holding one of Sherlock's hands in the other while John still nuzzled and kissed her, murmuring to her. Suddenly, Molly felt John freeze in her arms.

"John love?"

"Oh, no."

She realized he saw the marks on her. _But how, it's so dark, how could he know_? – but he did, she felt it – _Well, he is a doctor after all_.

"It's nothing, John."

"How – how is it nothing? How can you?"

Molly glanced in Sherlock's direction and saw that he was frozen, attentive. He squeezed Molly's hand he was still holding. Well, this couldn't be helped, Molly thought to herself. How did she think she could keep this from him until her marks healed? It was idiotic. Best to talk it out sooner rather than later, in any case.

"Sherlock, turn on the light," John said tersely.

"John, I think it might be better if - ."

"Sherlock, turn on the fucking light."

Sherlock turned on the light and John gently peeled away Molly's gown from her bitten and bruised body.

"Bloody hell." John drawled out the words as he took in Molly's naked skin, discoloured, and transformed by these marks. Sherlock suspected that anything he said would be upsetting to John at the moment, so he remained quiet.

"This is – this is not how things should be -," John started.

"John, now, John, it's all right."

"No."

Sherlock couldn't stay silent.

"John, I -."

"No! This is – Molly love, I had no idea – no idea – I'm so sorry, it wasn't like this the last time I, we – I would never have – I mean, just now, for gods sake -."

"John, shh, here -." Molly made to put her arms around him, but he held her away from him at an arm's length.

"I don't want to hurt you – oh god. Why did you let me -."

John sat back on his heels in the bed and put his hands to his face to conceal his contorted face as he sobbed for a few moments. Both Sherlock and Molly, and even John knew that his extreme reaction was only partly the shock of the image before him of Molly's discoloured body. At the heart of things were his feelings of confusion about his sexuality, his life.

Molly struggled, but was able to pull her robe up around her again, and tie it securely at her waist. She put her arms around her husband. Sherlock sat close by, but didn't make a move to touch his friend. He exchanged glances with Molly and deferred to her as to how to proceed.

"How could you let me – let me fuck you when you're all -."

"Darling, it doesn't hurt at all, honestly."

"I'm so sorry – Sherlock, did you _see_ this? We - we've been -."

Sherlock remained quiet, not wanting to further upset John by telling him that not _only_ had he seen Molly's body, but he had engaged in some incredible and rather rough sex with her earlier in the day.

"John, please, you have to know the week was about as thrilling for me as I can remember. - ."

"Thrilling? – this is – this is not-."

"Yes, John, and love, it's not going to happen again, right? Everything's back to the way it was, we're all back together -."

"But, Molly – this is -."

Sherlock hung his head, knowing what was coming, knowing but unable to dodge the blow. He merely steeled his body to take what came next.

"It's all right, John," Molly continued. "The marks will go away. Please don't let a few marks get to be so important that -."

"_But this is not__** normal**_!" John shouted, angry. Then he realized what he'd said.

There was a quite moment.

"No," said Sherlock, "No, it's not," he rose and put on his trousers quickly.

"No, Sherlock, don't, please, please -." Molly whispered.

"It's all right, Molly. John, I'm going to sleep at your's tonight, all right? You two stay here. Take some time. I'm all ready dressed. See? It's fine. I have my phone. You'll call me tomorrow. Yes? Call me tomorrow."

"Sherlock – I didn't mean – I didn't mean -."

"John. John, it's perfectly all right." _It's not all right, it's not fine, this is what's been coming all along this is what's been coming, how can I, how can I, how can I live without them?_ "Molly. Honestly. Perfectly fine. Call me tomorrow. Any time is fine." _It isn't fine, it isn't fine, it isn't perfectly fine. Call me back, please call me back, please bring me back. _

Sherlock turned to the door.

"Sherlock -."

"It's _fine_ John – just take some time. I know it will be -all right." He left quickly, charging out the door. _He needs time he needs some space he needs Molly he doesn't really need me I could disappear and so would his troubles I suppose why do I think I have any kind of investment in this relationship why do I persist in referring to it as a relationship what a fool I am to think this could last how could I think they'd need to keep me with them how can I live without them I won't be able to take another week of this just one night just tonight they'll call tomorrow they will. _He thought as he flew down the stairs and into the pre-dawn of London. A thick spring mist full of moisture hit his face, hiding the few quick tears he allowed himself, before he wiped them away, and brought back his barriers, his control.

Molly and John sat quietly for only a moment.

"Please get him back here, John, I can't take another week of the two of you at an impasse – get him back here, do it _now_." Molly's tone was that of an ultimatum and John couldn't ignore her.

He pulled on his trousers, left the rest, and ran down the stairs into the street. Sherlock was some 50 yards on.

"Hey!" John shouted, "I don't have any _shoes_!" He walked briskly toward the dark figure in the long coat. It was a chilly damp spring morning, well before dawn's light, with more than just a bit of mist in the air. It was just the slightest drizzle, barely noticeable, but the rain was visible in the street lamps' glow.

Sherlock heard John's call, and froze a moment. He turned and looked at his friend trotting toward him, small, shirtless, barefoot, his arms braced across his bare chest, the rain falling on him. Sherlock strode to him, taking of his coat in a fluid motion, draping it over John's shoulders as they met. John spoke carefully.

"You know I'm still – struggling – you know – you _know_ I wouldn't go back – to the way it was before – I _know_ you know that. You already know all this."

"Yes. But I thought you needed some time – perhaps alone with Molly."

"No. We – I – we both need you – to come back in. Please. Please forgive me?"

"Nothing whatever to forgive, John, don't be absurd. " Sherlock shrugged and smiled, but spoke again. "Are you sure? Wouldn't you like to – take some time alone together? To talk?"

"No. I really don't. Anything I'd want to talk about, I'd want you to be there." John smiled frankly into Sherlock's face, and Sherlock believed him. _Strange, he's always so loving, so sincere with me, but inside, with himself he's conflicted. Hmm. What is it that holds him back in his mind, when he's soooo lovely in bed with us? With me? Look what he's done for me, run out half naked to get me back. _

"Ok, do I get to call _you_ an idiot for coming out into the street like this? No shirt, no shoes?"

"Oh. Molly gave me an ultimatum."

"Ah. Say no more. 'Though she be but little, she is fierce.' Come, let's get you inside, it's raining harder."

"Sherlock?" John asked.

"Mmm?" Sherlock was walking back to the flat quickly, but didn't want to leave John behind him, either. He was splitting the difference, striding ahead, and looking back over his shoulder to keep tabs on where his friend was and now he was lagging behind, waiting for him to answer his question.

"Was I all right?"

"All right? All right with _what_?" Sherlock was slightly annoyed as he stopped and turned to his friend. The rain was coming down more regularly, now and Sherlock looked like an irritated house cat caught outside in rough weather. His shirt was darkening with the heavier downpour, his hair getting matted. John saw his irritation and laughed in Sherlock's face.

"That good, hey?" John arched an eyebrow.

"Oh, John, I -." Sherlock stepped into John's space, touching his face with his fingertips. With wonder, as he remembered. John smiled, reaching up, pulling his friend's head to his, slowly kissing him. Sherlock was reserved for only a moment, then fully responded, taking John into his arms. It started to pour, but they didn't break apart for some time.

"Come on, you're shivering for gods sake." Sherlock said at last, gripping John's wrist, pulling him inside.

* * *

Molly heard the two men enter the flat, chatting in what seemed to her to be amicable tones. _Made it up on the street_, she thought. _Excellent, that's the way to do it._ She heard them hovering about the bathroom, perhaps -? _What are they doing, I wonder? _Then they slipped quietly into the bedroom, where she was sitting up, waiting for them. She saw how wet they were, each with a towel, wiping themselves down.

"Raining tonight?" She asked, smiling.

"It's pouring, now," said John, sitting in the chair, wiping off his feet. Sherlock got out of his clothes first and was in bed bringing his towel, still drying his hair. When John stood and approached the bed, Sherlock was in the middle already, and he and Molly looked up at the doctor, expectantly.

"Um," John began a little sheepishly. "I would like – I would like to be – in the middle, please."

"Ah. How lovely, John. Please, do." Sherlock budged over to the side, and John crawled in between his wife and – and – lover? His male lover? _Oh for fuck's sake_.

"John, you're irresistible," said Molly, kissing him, running her hand inside his thigh and palming his cock. On the other side of him, Sherlock was licking what little moisture was left on the skin of his chest. Unable to resist the advances of either of his _bed mates_? _Bond mates? Well WHAT?_ _Oh, fuck, for fuck's sake._ John lay on his back, and let his wife pull his legs apart, and take him in her mouth, slowly, deliciously. Let Sherlock tongue and bite his chest, his nipples, stroke his hair. John closed his eyes, and just let it happen.

"It's good to see you like this." Sherlock purred in his ear.

"Hmm?"

"You're smiling. You're enjoying it."

"Very much."

"You're enjoying - me."

"Ahaha. _Sher_lock, I always enjoy you. Very much, both of you, very much." John continued to lounge flat on his back, taking, taking. He realized he did it quite rarely. If he wasn't giving something in bed, he was on the sidelines a bit, just watching, but he rarely allowed himself to be in the middle, taking from everyone. It was a strange but lovely sensation. _Almost too much. Too much pleasure. Like I don't deserve it, or something. _

Sherlock pulled John to him with a sudden and forceful, but controlled jerk, John's back now pressing flush to Sherlock's body as both of them lay on their sides. Molly adjusted, and continued to kiss and suck John's length. With a growl, Sherlock thrust his cock against the back of John's leg, high on his leg, and higher and higher. John could feel the tension mounting in his friend and wondered what might happen. What else he might do.

"All right, Sherlock?" John asked, most of his attention on Molly, his hands on her head, his eyes closed. But he couldn't ignore the building strength of Sherlock's hold on his chest and waist.

"Mmm. John." Sherlock's teeth raked across John's shoulders and continued to press hard against his friend, his erection now pulsing between John's legs. Suddenly John felt Sherlock reach away from him, and then felt a hand between his legs, wet and sticky.

"Sherlock. I don't think -."

"No, no, John, _between_, not inside, all right?" Sherlock put his hand between the cheeks of John's backside, spreading the lubricant around, then pressed his cock where his hand had been, holding John hard, rutting hard against him.

"All right?" Sherlock's words were strained.

"I – I wonder if -." John was a little worried, he hadn't seen Sherlock so close to losing control before. Then he felt his friend roll away from him, and slip out of bed, standing, then walking out of the room.

"Sherlock?" Molly looked up.

"I don't know," John said, "He was, well, he was getting close, and he was between my – my -."

"Yes, I know – what happened?"

"I don't know -. I thought he might be – ah – getting a little close to - ."

"Yes, to losing control." Sherlock was back in the room. He slipped in behind John, again, taking him in his arms the same way he had had him before, but more gently, now.

"What happened to you?" Molly asked.

"I didn't want to do anything - untoward. I was out of my mind, I went to the loo. I – I took care of it."

"What? In the bathroom?"

"Well, yes."

"That's a first for us?"

"I'd say so."

"Yes, it's a little strange, but as I say, I was _out_ of my _mind_ and all I could think of was this."

With a smooth movement, Sherlock gripped John around the shoulder and across the chest, and with his other hand, thrust a single finger deep inside him, immediately locating the prostate, brushing across it.

"Ah, _god_, Sherlock. _Sherlock._" John could barely speak. The burn coursed through his body, his brain all but stopped functioning. He quaked, trembling against his friend.

"But you like, it John. _Please_ let me know that, please tell me you do."

"Yes, ah, I _do_ – I – oh _god_." John arched his back as Sherlock added another finger and started to thrust into John. Molly looked carefully at Sherlock. _What's gotten into him? Probably just as he says, he's losing his mind a little. Getting a little impatient. Who could blame him? But he's all right now, _she thought,_ perhaps it's time to up the stakes tonight. John's a big boy. _She smiled at Sherlock and lowered her mouth to John's cock again.

"Tell me you like how I hold you hard against me, tell me you think of me, think of me inside you, pushing into you." Sherlock growled in his friend's ear.

"Yes, I do – I do."

"Tell me, please, remind me that you can't wait 'til you're ready for me to fuck you properly, that you think of it, that you dream of it -."

"I do, love, just not yet, please, I don't -."

"Shh, that's all right, just tell me you - just tell me - you want me to hold you - and to – to – oh, god, John, I'm sorry, I'm -." Sherlock started to loosen his grip on John, but John finally saw what he wanted, he reached around and whispered urgently in his friend's ear.

"Sherlock, _Sher_lock, I want you to fuck me with your fingers _hard_, do it now and hold me hard against you, yes, like that_, oh, god_, _Jesus._"

Sherlock gripped John hard across the chest again, thrusting three fingers into him, fast and hard and deep. He expertly brushed John's prostate at every thrust, pushing the doctor closer to the edge with every movement. John kept talking to Sherlock even as his world began to dissolve and his body seemed to start to float away from him and the heat in his neck and face and body were burning him and burning him.

"Yes, fuck me, fuck me with your fingers, _Sher_lock, _Sher_lock, do it like that – yes fuck me hard – you're _brilliant_ with your fingers oh, _fuck_, oh _god, Molly, _shit -." John didn't get a chance to speak out his usual orgasm-approaching litany, and came in Molly's mouth faster and harder than he had done in a while, then he collapsed back against Sherlock, who continued to hold him, now stroking his hair, kissing his neck, rubbing his face against him. _He's so lovely so tractable and open with me I can't resist him another day I will lose my mind but I will wait I will hang on there is much to explore now, much to anticipate so much to think about if I don't lose my mind obsessing over it all._

Molly slowly released John from her mouth, delighting in the little popping sound she managed to make and looked up at Sherlock. She thought he looked a little bewildered, as though he didn't know what he'd done, but she caught his eye and he nodded to indicate that he was ok.

"John, love? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so rough." Sherlock was brushing John's neck with his lips, trailing little kisses as he teased a nipple with his fingers, still crushing John against him with one arm.

John turned fully to Sherlock, pressing his face into his friend's neck, licking and biting him, kissing him. Molly smiled, relieved that the earlier difficulties of the evening were past them now. She cuddled up to John's back, kneading his backside, stroking it. She felt John reach around to stroke her hair.

"John, all right?" Sherlock whispered.

"You are – you are, you know." John's voice was a hoarse whisper, a benediction.

"What, John?"

"Brilliant with your fingers."

* * *

_Hope you liked the crazy-romantic kissing in the rain scene! _

_With Mrs. Hudson NO DOUBT Spying on them through her parlour window, no?_

_I know it's not everyone's ship – Jollock is a crazy wild ride, tho', ain't it?_

_So, if it's not for you, I'm sorry if I offend._

_But if you did like it – even a little: I'd be eternally grateful if you'd let me know!_

_There just aren't that many Jollock-er's out there! It would be so great to hear from you, if you're one!  
_

_Next chapter – I don't know – _

_We have one more crazy 'first' coming up, don't we? But first, a bit of top-John, no?_

_Molly will join, and she will enjoy it very much!_

_Annnnnd, Sherlock must make good on his promise to 'know Molly better.' _

_I wonder what that will mean? Ahaha._


	33. All Three Twice 042513

_In which Sherlock and John sit in the chair again_

_John has a very nice time_

_Then Molly __probably h__as an even better time_

_Polyamory, my friends_

* * *

_**All Three Twice**_

John sat in his chair at 221 B, a hand to his brow, decompressing after a hectic morning shift at the clinic. He was remembering, now how he'd slipped out of bed early with Molly while Sherlock slept. He'd felt bad about it, leaving him there, alone.

"Come on, John," Molly had urged him, as he'd hesitated in the doorway. "He'll be fine, sweetheart. We're going to be late. God, you're adorable with him." Molly had to take John's arm and guide him out the door and down to the street.

They'd had breakfast together while Sherlock slept, just toast and tea, but John felt guilty and strained. He wanted to stay with him for some reason. Just keep watch over him.

"Are you going to leave me?" Molly pursed her lips in a tight smile.

"What?"

"You know, pack up Sherlock and leave me alone?"

For answer, John took her hand and pressed it to his cheek.

"I don't get it, I don' understand how - why we're – why I -."

"You don't have to, John. You don't have to 'get it,' ok? We're all here and we love each other. It's a tiny bit of what we get to have of heaven before we die. If you think about it, it's not even that much. Is it, after all?"

"I suppose not. But he's – he's so -."

"Yes, compelling."

"Mmm. And _you_, you are so – so very - " John was rubbing Molly's thigh.

"Hmmhmm. Stop that." Molly swatted him with a tea towel, and got up to put on her coat and collect her bag.

John had to go look in on Sherlock after he'd had his tea, and that's when Molly had to lead him away. John walked her to the tube station and headed to work himself. When he'd had a moment to himself that morning John texted his friend.

_Sorry to dash – early shift - c u 2 or 3? – J_

Sherlock hadn't responded, but John knew that didn't mean anything. He'd probably be in the door at any moment, now.

_Any minute so we can continue our life of deviant buggery – still outlawed in many parts of the world. Oh, god, shut up, can't you shut up? You shut up, you idiot, you're the one engaged in joyful buggery, unrestrained happy buggery. Oh fuck off. _John was getting better at telling his inner voice to fuck off, but was having more and more, though shorter and shorter exchanges with it.

"John, love? Inner voice thing?"

Sherlock was in the doorway of the flat, holding some bags.

"Hey. Ahaha. Yeah. S'gone now."

"Good. I got your text. Thanks – that was – I was - ."

"Ok. All right?"

"Mmm. Just – " Sherlock gestured to a couple carrier bags and took himself off to the kitchen. Then shouted.

"Do you want tea, John?"

"Are you making some?"

"Of course. Mug ok?"

"Fine, thanks."

Sherlock reappeared from the kitchen after a few minutes and sat in his chair. The two men smiled shyly at one another. Sitting in their chairs always reminded them of their time living together in these rooms before there was every any – or at least not much of any.

"It was - ." Sherlock started, picking something off his shirt. "This morning –ah, a bit -."

"Oh."

"Yes, um. Surprisingly lonely this morning. For some reason."

"Sorry. I was afraid of that – I was – I felt - ."

"Not at all, not at all." Sherlock waved him off, smiling. "It's lovely to see you now. To know Molly's not far. Very, lovely." Sherlock regarded his friend in his chair, particularly his thighs, which he found more and more attractive, _particularly_ in the pair of jeans that John happened to be wearing at that moment. John noticed his friend looking at him, but could see that he wasn't looking at his face. He bit his lips together to keep from smiling, or indeed laughing out loud, then spoke.

"What are you looking at?"

"Oh," said Sherlock, caught quite by surprise, but was saved suddenly by the familiar click from the kitchen. "Oh, kettle's gone." He popped up and was in the kitchen, but when he came back, placing a mug at John's side on the table, John didn't let the subject slip.

"What were you looking at? Before the kettle went, hmm?"

"Oh, nothing." Sherlock smiled and reddened, standing with his mug of tea.

"I think, I think you were ogling me."

"Hmhmhm." Sherlock laughed quietly to be caught.

"What?" asked John. "What were you ogling?" This was a little outside of John's comfort zone, but he decided to pursue it. It seemed fun, interesting and completely non-invasive. Sherlock paused, but answered.

"Um. Your – aghm, your thighs." Sherlock cleared his throat.

John rubbed an ear with one finger and scratched an eyebrow with his thumbnail. "My _thighs_?"

"Mmm. In _those_ jeans, actually." Sherlock glanced at John, to indicate the jeans, but quickly looked away again.

John looked at his jeans.

"Really?"

"Mmm. They're – thick, your thighs, aren't they? And, ah, muscular." Sherlock shyly met the doctor's gaze through lowered lashes.

"Ha." John reddened slightly, looking away. Sherlock took the opportunity, with John's diverted attention, to look at his friend's thighs again. Then he spoke.

"What about – you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you – look – at anything?" Sherlock stood before his friend in the chair and looked away from John's direct gaze. He held his cup in his hands before him, but was otherwise quite on display. John knew Sherlock wasn't digging for a compliment, but wanted to know, naturally enough, whether John found him attractive and in what way. _Fair enough, _thought John. He cleared his throat but only managed a hoarse sort of squeak of a whisper.

"Neck."

"Pardon me?"

"Your _neck_ – is – well, it's ah – quite - ah - sculptural."

"It _is_?" Sherlock stepped to the mantel and looked in the mirror, turning his head back and forth, looking at his neck carefully from a number of different angles, providing John with quite a show. He unbuttoned a button on his shirt to get a better look.

"Oh, god," John breathed.

"What? Problem?"

"Ahaha. _Sher_lock."

Sherlock turned his attention back to John in his chair. He noticed that the doctor had uncrossed his legs and put his hands on the arms of his chair, the same stance he'd adopted when he'd first asked Sherlock to sit in his lap, the day before, which Sherlock had quite enjoyed. It had been so soothing, and also quite – _what?_

"Is that – an invitation?"

"Yes," said John, simply, thrumming the chair arm with his fingers once.

"Mmm," Sherlock smiled, blushing, deeply, slowly approaching the chair, depositing his mug on the side table with John's. _Why, I wonder, does this, sitting in his lap, I'm only about to sit in his lap, why on earth does this seem so illicit, as though I'm stealing a secret treat? Why does it feel so impossible that he actually wants me in his lap, wants to hold me and stroke my hair and – oh, no. _

Sherlock stopped his approach to John, and John saw a cloud cross Sherlock's face.

"What is it? Something wrong?"

"Nothing – I – I." Sherlock stood just another step and a half away from John, he was looking off, as if into a distance.

"You don't have to, of course."

"Oh," said Sherlock.

"But, I -."

"Yes?"

"Nothing. That is - I – I'd _like_ you to. I liked it – before. I thought that you -"

"Oh. So did I. _John_."

"Ahaha. Come here, love, what's wrong?"

John watched as Sherlock hung his head and approached him with a mournful expression in his face.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock lowered himself into John's lap, none of the mischievous lover in his face or body, now. Instead he seemed like a small child awaiting a punishment. When Sherlock was fully seated, he lifted his head to John's and the doctor was speechless as Sherlock looked into the doctor's eyes with what seemed to be fear and dread.

"I'm not to heavy, am I?"

"Of course not. Why do you ask that?"

Sherlock pressed his face into John's neck and let John stroke his hair. Then he started to murmur Sherlock's name quietly as he had done before. Barely a whisper, barely consonants at all. Barely a hush and low click. After some delicious moments of this, John heard Sherlock purr. A few seconds, then he stopped, then he did it again. And then stopped. John smiled, holding him. _How does this happen, _John wondered. _When I sit here, and have him join me, we end up cuddling like mother and child. I'm sure it's not me, I'm fairly sure I had rather filthy thoughts about what we'd do when he sat in my lap. Let me see. Yes. Very, filthy bad thoughts. But he's gotten so upset over something. What? Now he just wants to be held, clearly. Like a child. Just like a child._

John continued massaging Sherlock's scalp, pressing his lips to Sherlock's hair, still whispering his name. Then he added 'we' and 'love,' and 'you.' It was like kryptonite. Sherlock seemed to collapse in John's arms, the power and force of his personality seemed to have entirely evaporated and all that was left was this shell, this needy young man in John's lap. John held him as long as he could, murmuring to him quietly for some thirty minutes. At length, part of John's upper arm fell asleep, so he roused his friend.

"Come on, let's, ah - let's go lie down, hmm?"

"Oh, sorry – did I - ."

"No, no, just - my arm fell asleep."

"Sorry."

"Don't be ridiculous."

The two rose from the chair, and Sherlock seemed to be somewhat recovered rather quickly. John paused at the bedroom door.

"Sherlock, did you – did you ever have - an eating disorder?"

Sherlock whirled on John but with a grin.

"Excellent deduction, Doctor. Interesting. But I seem to recall - you promised not to ask - remember?"

"I – oh, sorry – yes, I did – but -."

Sherlock leaned against the doorsill, holding John gently by the waist. He lowered his voice to that irresistible, delicious bedroom tone of his.

"It's all right. Um, when you asked about - my _mother_ – before, I was quite unpre_pared_. Sorry I – I was brusque with you that day. But I did want to tell you - I _love_ that you ask, John. I know it means that you - hmhm – well, thank you. But – ah – I'm still not– you know, not going to talk about it – it all seems quite – ridiculous, now. Like a bad film about – something. Another time?"

"But, when we sit down - there - ."

"Shh. Interesting. I think – I think it has something to do with – hmhm – the _chair_."

"What? With what?"

"Some other time, I promise, all right? Now, John Watson, _will you please_ _get into my bed_?"

* * *

Sherlock seemed to be quite recovered from his morose spell and was smiling wickedly. He guided John into the room, propelling him toward the bed and they were soon both lying across it, facing one another, stroking one another's faces. If he were to examine the moment too closely, Sherlock thought, he would find it quite nauseating, cloying.

"Strange," said John.

"I'm still in love with Molly, but – this, this is - It feels a little mad."

"Well, thanks."

"That's not what I mean," John knew his friend wouldn't take offense.

"I know, I know. You're still - struggling - playing the name game."

"The name game. Yes, that's really all it is at this point. The implications. I – I'm sorry."

"I wish I could help you, but, you're right, I can't. It's nothing to do with me."

"No, it hasn't," John agreed.

Sherlock leaned up, and pinned John's shoulders to the bed, bending to him more aggressively, kissing him more deeply, with more pressure, more teeth. Sherlock was delighted to weakness to find John responsive, and hungry for his touch. They were unbuttoning one another's shirts, now, and Sherlock managed to dominate in this bit of wrestling, pushing John's t-shirt out of the way, exposing the skin of his chest. He pressed his mouth against this pale flesh, breathing in the scent of John, soap and sweat. Almost involuntarily, Sherlock's hands were undoing John's belt and trousers, and in only a couple of moments John was half naked on the bed, his shirt and t-shirt rucked up under his arms. As Sherlock threw away John's trousers and pants, he smiled at the picture of debauchery his friend made as he lay on the bed, nude from the tits down, reaching for Sherlock. Fully clothed, with only a couple buttons undone, Sherlock smiled and reached for John's bobbing cock, stroking it gently.

"_Sher_lock, oh, god Sher – mmm."

He spread John's legs apart with his knees, and descended, placing his tongue at the base of John's length, licking up to the tip repeating this several times. Finally he took his tip in his mouth, sucking him, caressing his balls in one hand. He took his time tasting John's head, licking and sucking and John was cooing and begging quite prettily, Sherlock thought, by the time he was ready to move down the doctor's thick shaft.

"Please, _please_, Sher -."

"Yes, John, yes," Sherlock assured him, smug and smiling, before he took John fully into his mouth to the back of his throat, swallowing against the head.

"_Jesus_." John arched his back into the pleasure of his friend's velvet tongue and lips.

"Oh, how lovely," said Molly in the doorway. She'd come straight to the bedroom from the door and was shedding her clothing at an alarming rate, some of it falling to the floor, some on the chair, all of it off in record time, thought John. He smiled at his wife, while still leaning into the pleasure Sherlock was giving him with his beautiful mouth. John watched her, now naked, as she reached into Sherlock's closet for her dressing gown. She draped herself in the red silk, still keen to shield John from the marks that were still unhealed on her body. Her eyes focused on John and then she approached the bed. She ruffled Sherlock's hair and placed a kiss in his curls before sliding up to lie next to John, sliding his jumper and shirt up over his head and off, leaving him completely naked.

"Lovely," She said, kissing him.

She loved taking her husband's face in her hands and watching him whenever Sherlock did this for him. She loved to kiss him and murmur to him, while he was getting such lovely special treatment.

"John, my darling sweet love. Have you been good today? Is that why you're getting such a nice treat?"

"Mmm." John couldn't really make words.

"Yes, Sherlock's lovely, isn't he, darling? Marvelous with his tongue, marvelous with his fingers." She kissed him and looked at him carefully. "Is it good, John? Enjoying it, now? No conflicts at the moment?"

"Mmm." John was unable to make any sense of any sounds, Sherlock was driving him so crazy.

"Yes, mmm, lovely." Molly kissed her husband deeply, enjoying his abandon, his delirium, his other-worldliness as Sherlock continued to drive him mad with his tongue. Molly looked down and caught Sherlock's eye. He glinted at her, flashing her a smile in his eyes, and she knew he was beckoning to her to join him. But she watched him for a moment more, enjoying his pleasure in this act. Molly knew he thoroughly enjoyed it for himself, and not just as a way to please John, though that was important to Sherlock as well. She smiled her wanton smile and slid down to join Sherlock between John's legs.

John gasped as he felt Molly's tongue join Sherlock's in licking his cock like ice cream. He opened his eyes, and saw his wife and friend kissing over his length, tonguing him, licking him, then kissing one another again. He rubbed his face with his hands, willing the burn in his skin to abate in temperature, but it didn't and his face and body just became hotter and hotter. Then he saw them look up at him, smiling.

"Hello, John," Sherlock smiled at him. "Turn on your side, love?" Sherlock and Molly gently turned John to the side. Molly continued to kiss and tongue John's cock, while Sherlock was stroking John's backside. John felt his friend knead his muscles deeply, then spread the two halves, exposing his puckered hole and he felt Sherlock lean in, tonguing him there, licking his opening, probing him with his tongue.

"_Jesus_."

"Tell me, John. Tell me how it feels."

"Ah, ah, it's – it's good, Sherlock, it's – it feels so good." Was that enough, John wondered. Did he need more? John tried a little harder. "It's – you, you make - make me feel so good – Sherlock."

"Hmmhmm. Yes. That's lovely, John." Sherlock laughed and lapped at John's arse a few more moments, then rose from the bed. "Just a moment, Molly," he said, going to the dresser. John watched as Sherlock put some lubricant on his fingers, and then returned to Molly. He ducked his head under John's leg, taking his testicles in his mouth and John arched his back.

"Oh for gods _sake_," John's mind couldn't focus on anything and he couldn't sort out who's mouth was where as lips and tongues seemed to come from everywhere, and all descend, gently, beautifully between his legs.

"Oh _fuck_!" John felt a finger enter him, deeply probing, then another. "_Sher_lock, oh, god, Sherlock," John's protest was mixed. He still couldn't immediately accept the pleasure of Sherlock's fingers and the implication of another man's hands on him still made him hesitate. Sherlock reminded him patiently.

"You _like_ it John, love. Tell me you do, all right? Tell me? If you'd rather, I'll stop, of course, but you must tell me, all right?."

"No, no, don't stop – It's, oh, god, it's lovely, yes, please, fuck me with your fingers, give me three, now, please, _please_– ah!"

Sherlock used three fingers without hesitation, and he made smiling but silent eye contact with Molly as John started bucking more and more forcefully into her mouth.

"Molly, love, all right?" asked John, feeling the sweet waves of a lovely burning spread through his whole body.

Molly smiled to herself, as her mouth was quite full, and picked up her speed. She knew John's question to be one from their first few months of sleeping together when he would check with her whether it was all right for him to come soon as she sucked him. It had always been a somewhat rhetorical question and she didn't answer him. She picked up her pace up and down John's shaft, and nodded to Sherlock who started to carefully brush at John's prostate every once in a while as he stroked him faster and faster. He dipped his head between John's legs again, kissing and tonguing his balls again, gently sucking one into his mouth, and then the other.

John felt his head start to jerk up and down at the neck, involuntarily as his head and neck and body burned and threatened to burst into flame. The jerking took over his spine, and then his hips and soon his world dissolved and all he knew was this jerking of his whole body and an erasure of all words and understanding.

John's litany of swear words and Molly's and Sherlock's names was particularly colourful this go, but it was fairly short-lived. He came in Molly's mouth quite forcefully, arching his back and repeating one or two of his most common curses. What was astounding was the bouncing up and down on the bed he managed to do as he bucked and jerked in the throes of his orgasm, flinging both Sherlock and Molly away from him. They had to duck out of his way to avoid getting an elbow or a foot in the face. He finally collapsed on his back in the bed, and Sherlock and Molly slid up on each side of him, kissing him and holding him.

"John, love, was it nice?" Molly smiled, kissing him, not expecting an answer.

"Lovely, John," said Sherlock, nuzzling him, then he rose from the bed.

John had his arms around Molly, but reached out as he felt Sherlock's weight lift away from him.

"Wait. Um – where are you going?"

"Oh, John - irresistible," Molly licked his ear.

Sherlock looked down at his friend and was deeply moved. John had his arm out, frankly reaching for Sherlock, while his other arm was firmly planted around Molly's waist, his face all concern and question. _Enough to banish any doubt_, Sherlock thought. He took his friend's hand and squeezed it, lovingly.

"John, love - Just going to wash my hands, all right, hmm?" Sherlock stood at the edge of the bed, fully clothed.

"Ok, ahaha." John realized how childish he must have just appeared, reaching out for Sherlock as he had, but he was unembarrassed before his wife and friend. He looked at Sherlock, holding his hand now, and he barely looked real to John. It couldn't be possible that this posh immaculate figure had just helped to bring John to one of the most incredible orgasms he could remember having. He watched as Sherlock smiled at him, squeezing and dropping John's hand gently. He stripped off his jacket, dipping into the closet for a hanger, then he turned to the bed again.

"Right back," Sherlock twinkled a smile at each of them, and stepped out of the room.

John closed his eyes, and let Molly stroke him. He pressed his face into the silk of her gown, then worked a hand into its folds, finding her skin, and stroking her in return.

"What can we do for you, love? You've been neglected some more, haven't you?"

"I don't feel neglected. And you two are getting to know one another, and I love it. I love it. And I feel – I feel so safe, John, honestly."

"Tell me what you want, Molly, all right? Do you want anything special, anything particular? Tell me, hmm?"

"Mmm, it's all right, things will just happen, I think, don't you?. We'll wait for him, yes?"

"Of course – we'll wait for him. We love him." John rolled his eyes.

"You don't have to judge yourself about it."

"You're right, I mustn't. It's - it's – just good."

"That's right."

Sherlock was in the room, now stripped to the waist. He slid into bed behind Molly.

"Whispering?" He knew his lovely people weren't whispering secretively, it was just his way of breaking into the conversation. _My lovely people._ This was Sherlock's new phrase for John and Molly, since John had involuntarily choked with laughter when Sherlock said 'lovely pair' aloud one time. John had had to explain to his friend that it sounded as though he were referring to his own testicles. They'd had a laugh over it and Sherlock was only minimally hurt. But he'd wanted some way of referring to John and Molly in his own mind – he'd never meant to say or use the phrase aloud.

"No, no whispering," said Molly, "we were just saying that John didn't have to judge himself for being in love with you."

Sherlock put his hands around Molly's waist, smiling at John over her shoulder, kissing her ear and neck.

"Mmm, is John in love with me?"

John reddened and glanced away, but answered.

"Yes. I mean – Sherlock -."

"Shh, John, love – no need to pronounce it on cue, hmm? You've told me. I love you, too."

"What about me? Does anyone still love me?" Molly laughed a little hysterically and the two men fairly devoured her, raining kisses and caresses upon her in the heaps of gentle attention she'd been wishing for. _All I have to do is ask, _she thought. John undid her dressing gown to her waist, and was kissing her breasts, while Sherlock hitched the hem of the gown up around her waist as he kneaded her backside with his hands, reaching between her legs, just lightly touching her there. She lay on her side, closed her eyes and just allowed the sensations to wash over her, lifting a hand to the face of each of them, stroking their cheeks, their hair, their throats. She felt Sherlock lift away from her back, and come back, placing his hand between the cheeks of her backside.

"May I?" he asked, his chocolate and velvet voice in her ear. His fingers were covered in lubricant.

"Yes, yes," she answered in the same hushed whisper he'd adopted.

Sherlock slowly gently probed her tighter hole with a single finger, sinking slowly into her, he added a second finger. She arched into it as John slid a single finger between her lips and deep inside her, then added another, pulsing, gently thrusting into her.

"Mmm," she said, "both."

"Yes, both, love," Sherlock nipped gently at her neck.

"Yes, Molly, both." John kissed the spot Sherlock had bitten, and Sherlock quietly stole a kiss from John.

"Mmm, love you."

"Love you, Molly." John whispered in her ear, pulling her hair a little, then reaching to Sherlock's shoulder and neck, stroking him.

"Love you, Molly," Sherlock gripped Molly's waist and pulled her against him, pressing his erection into her upper thigh, pressing harder and higher and higher.

"Yes," she said, "take me there, yes, please."

Sherlock reached for a condom he'd already located and put it on quickly, then he entered her with two fingers, gently widening her.

"No, no, go ahead, just go slowly -."

"Molly, if I just -."

"Please, _please_ -." Molly begged, so Sherlock obliged her. He gave a quick glance to John, a vestigial request for consent before positioning himself at her opening then slowly entering her. He stopped when he felt her tight ring of muscle constrict around him, not wanting to hurt her.

"Molly?" he asked.

"Yes, yes, lovely, please, _please_, ah -." The words spilled out of Molly, and Sherlock continued to press into her. John held her hips, still gently tonguing her breasts, and then looked up and watched her face as Sherlock managed to sink slowly into her. He watched as his wife's eyes rolled back in her head, her face contorted somewhat and her lips curled into that wanton smile that sometimes frightened him, but always gratified him. He locked his mouth onto hers, forcing hers open, pressing his tongue into her, rubbing it against hers, dragging his tongue across her teeth, then licking her lips. When he broke away she gasped for air.

"John, love," She arched her back. "your mouth -."

"Mmm? My mouth, love? Oh, yes, of course, ahaha." John slid down to Molly's sex. Though the light was dim, John could clearly see Sherlock's cock gently pulsing in and out of Molly's nether hole. He was just marking time, John thought, waiting for the right moment to up the stakes. John smiled and dipped his head in to kiss and lick Sherlock's testicles.

"Ah, _John_, hmmhmmhmm, John, oh god -." Sherlock was not at all expecting John's initiation of such an act. He chuckled softly, moved his leg and tilted his hips to give John better access. _Always surprising me, how delightful,_ thought Sherlock, still unused to John's wholehearted involvement in their physical relationship. Especially when he saw the doctor struggle on a daily basis with his not-so-mysterious inner voice. Sherlock felt John's weight move away from him and Molly for a moment, then he returned. _What's he done, now? The lubricant, he's – ah!_

John probed Sherlock's opening, and quickly thrust in a finger, thrusting rather hard at first and then slowing down. John wanted to surprise his friend a little, let him know he wasn't too much of a retiring wall flower. Then he slowed down, thrusting more gently, in line with Sherlock's thrusts into Molly.

"John?" Molly whimpered.

"I'm here," said John, breathing in Molly's scent before pressing his mouth into her sex.

Molly moaned loudly and long as John and Sherlock pulsed against her, probing into her at a slow and gentle pace. At length, John's tongue picked up speed a bit and Molly quickly responded to him, pulsing her muscles to propel her harder against him and Sherlock had to grip her harder around the waist to keep himself well seated inside her. She loved his hard grip on her, and only felt safer to buck harder against John when she felt Sherlock's hands tighten on her.

Molly quickly reached a plateau and was about to come when she spoke.

"John, I'm close, fuck me when I come, please just quickly take me when I – ah – John -." She was finished, bucking and rocking against Sherlock cock and John's mouth. John slid up in the bed.

"It will be tricky, I'll have to - ."

"Here, John – I'll - ."

Sherlock raised one of Molly's legs, as she lay on her side, and John was able to enter her, reaching to Sherlock holding his arm, and Sherlock did the same, pressing Molly hard between them. Molly was already moaning and moving against them again as she recovered from her first orgasm, but the men pressed harder into her, closer into one another and made it harder and harder for her to move. This made her frantic and her movements took on a desperate quality, her moans became frantic as she tried to maintain her pace and the friction she needed Sherlock found this new turn of events extremely arousing and was getting near the end, his own pace and movements become a bit frantic.

"John, I – close -."

"Yes, – fuck, oh _god_! Molly, shit!"

When Molly heard John begin his litany of curses and names, she lost her mind and flung herself backward and forward against both of them with all her force, shouting out her release and John followed her quickly afterward. Sherlock took a little longer, but when John slipped away from Molly, lying back in the bed on his back, Sherlock was able to position Molly for a better angle, fucking her into the bed. He was afraid he was smothering her a little as he saw her face press into a pillow and turned her over quickly when he was finished.

"Molly, love, all right? I didn't mean to -." Sherlock didn't need to finish when he saw Molly's obscene smile light up her face. Sherlock smiled back, and leaned in to kiss her.

"John love," Molly reached for John, taking and squeezing his hand as they all lay next to one another still breathing hard, smiling and content.

* * *

_Ok, that's got to satisfy the most prurient of interests_

_('Oh little did my mother think_

_when first she cradled me . . .'_

_or indeed when she paid my college tuition)_

_More anon – trying to work some Sherlolly in there_

_But then John will be jealous. Hmm, jealous John: interesting._

_I know this isn't everyone's ship – so I apologize if I offend. _

_But you know what, there're not that many Jollocker's out there – _

_So, if you're one of 'em_

_Please write me if you liked it, 'k? _

_And tell me where to find more! _

_More *coming* on Sunday – I'm in the zone. _


	34. A Big Day for Sherlock - I 042813

_Sherlock makes a date with Molly_

_Sherlock and Molly have a lovely time_

_Sherlock and John have an intimate chat about John's issues_

_Sherlock and John have a lovely time_

* * *

_**A Big Day for Sherlock - I**_

Morning at 221B Baker Street. _Movement in the bed, what is it? Who's leaving? John next to me breathing, asleep – Molly - time? Ambient light from outside - pre-dawn – she has that early shift today catch her before she goes – catch her now – don't wake John – no, no chance of that - he's dead to the world. _

Sherlock slipped out of bed and padded out of the room after Molly. He saw that she'd closed the door to the bathroom, so he waited for her. When she came out, she found him leaning against the wall, watching the door.

"Hello, Mrs. Watson, and how are we this morning?"

Molly smiled. _What's he up to? Oh, right, his sweet promise – what will he do? _She wondered.

"I'm just fine, Mr. Holmes. How are you this morning? You must be cold, naked as you are under that thin dressing gown." She closed the distance between them, and took his morning erection in her hand.

"Hmhmhm, yes, but not too cold." Sherlock chuckled.

"No," Molly smiled, "Not too cold at all."

"What are your intentions, Mrs. Watson?"

"What are _yours_, Mr. Holmes? You seem to have followed me to the loo this morning."

Sherlock took her in his arms, and she pressed against him without losing hold of his length in her hand.

"Well, my intentions were rather innocent, I'd only meant to ask you to let me buy you lunch today. But now - ." He kissed her forehead. "Now, I think I'd like to take you back to bed and make John watch me have you before you go to work."

"Well, I do have an extra five minutes." Molly grinned.

"_Molly! _That is completely unfair," Sherlock chuckled in spite of the rib.

"Ahaha, 20 minutes, then. And I further accept your luncheon proposal for 12:30. Meet at the usual place? We're just talking about lunch, I hope, it's going to be a busy day -."

"Lunch, Molly, I swear. No more ridiculous public – after that incident with – ah -. All right, usual place in front?"

"Mmm."

Sherlock took Molly by the hair, gently pulling her head back, as he leaned in to her ear.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Mrs. Watson, now please come back to bed with me for the first part of our arrangement, yes?" He bit her neck gently.

"With pleasure, Mr. Holmes, you bad, bad man."

The pair entered the dark bedroom and could hear John's regular breathing. They slipped back into bed carefully, already kissing and petting. Sherlock pressed a knee between Molly's legs, placing her on her back and spoke.

"Like this? Or? I know you like it from behind. Tell me?"

"Hmm – lovely from behind - ."

"I know you like it that way – but - ."

"Lonely. This way – I want to be near you." She kissed him.

Sherlock pressed her legs apart and pressed the head of his erection into her carefully. She was a little unready, and he gently rubbed his head in and out a few times and it wasn't long before he could enter her easily. She hummed her appreciation in his ear and whispered.

"Lovely." She wrapped her legs around his waist and squeezed him, eliciting a breathy sound from her partner.

Sherlock reached between their bodies, and placed a thumb where he knew she liked it, but asked, as well.

"Is that all right, Molly?"

"Yes - You could -."

"What? Tell me?"

"You could rest your thumb more lightly – that way I can move against you and - ."

Molly demonstrated.

"Ah. But when I – ." Sherlock pressed a little more firmly.

"Oh, _ah_ -yes, also lovely, but - later." Molly was starting to lose interest in the conversation, and was moving with a little more urgency. Sherlock brought one of Molly's knees forward, slinging the leg over one of his shoulders. She looked up at him, smiling through lowered lashes.

"Mmm, _also_ lovely," she started to move even more urgently.

Sherlock could see she was getting close to a plateau, but wanted to experiment some more. He brought her other knee over his shoulder, and pressed her hard into the mattress almost immobilizing her, and then he grasped her wrists, pinning them above her head with some force. He moved only minimally, making her do the work, though she was pinned quite effectively and had to use more than her usual force to move against him. She looked up at him with alarm and saw him smiling at her.

"All right?" He asked, but as usual, he saw he didn't have to ask, as her secret smile, lascivious, almost lewd spread across her face and she pitched herself against him to get what she wanted. _No fading flower, _he thought, gratified. She came quietly but fiercely against him, biting his shoulder at the end. When she was done, he lowered one of her legs, and fucked her hard into the pillows, watching as she smiled at him, only enjoying her afterglow, no longer invested, allowing him his pleasure, allowing him to take it as he wanted it. When he was finished, he, too, managed to suppress the noise he might otherwise have made to keep from waking John. He only allowed himself a deep moan into the nape of her neck, then collapsed almost completely on top of her, finally rolling off after several long moments. They lay there together listening to one another's breathing become more and more regular and finally Molly chuckled.

"Hmmhmm. That was lovely Mr. Holmes." She kissed him and rolled up out of bed, and gathered her clothing. "I'll see you later." She was rummaging in Sherlock's closet for something. "Did I leave that other blouse here? Yes! Oh good. See you at lunch!" She left the room with an armful of belongings and Sherlock heard her in the bathroom for only a few minutes, before she was closing the door to the flat. A few seconds later the door downstairs slammed, and he felt the sudden emptiness of her absence. Sherlock put his concentration on John's breathing as his friend slept. It was meditative and soothing, but he wanted to reach for John and hold him. He refrained, however, not wanting to wake him. He continued to monitor his breathing, instead, and consciously or not, his own breathing fell in step with it and finally Sherlock drifted into a lovely deep sleep.

* * *

He woke some time later and listened for John. He could hear him breathing but could tell that his friend wasn't asleep. He turned to him to find John facing away toward the wall, so Sherlock slid over to spoon him, brushing his jaw and lips across his shoulders, the back of his neck, his hairline. But John was very quiet, not at all his usual self. Sherlock could feel it in his skin as he touched him, could feel his muscles react differently to him.

"John?"

"Mmm."

"What is it? Can you -."

"Mmm, nothing."

"John, you'll tell me, won't you?"

"Mmm, just – I don't know how – how -."

Sherlock could tell his friend was very conflicted this morning, having deep doubts about what to _call_ all this. Their relationship, their triad. It almost seemed to Sherlock that the further the two of them progressed in their physical relationship, the harder John struggled and Sherlock had no small amount of guilt to be the cause of his friend's pain.

"John -?"

"How – Well how did we get here? How did that - happen? We were friends. We were good friends and now -."

Sherlock's heart sank, but didn't take this set back personally. He only tried to find a way to help abate John's struggle.

"You came to me, John. You brought Molly."

"Yes, yes, but - ."

"You'd thought only to share Molly with me. But, I'm afraid I thought that you – Well, I suppose I wanted -."

"You thought we'd share each other, too.

"Yes. We had different - ."

"Slightly different ideas -."

"Yes," said Sherlock, continuing to brush John's skin with his mouth.

"How did I – how did we come to this?" John continued to sound mystified.

"You stayed."

"What?"

"You didn't leave, John. Early on – remember? We – we were in bed with Molly."

"Yes, yes, I remember."

"And I – I'm sorry, it was very ah – ungentlemanly of me, but I sort of – well, I grabbed you, put my mouth on you. But I remember clearly John, we stopped, I stopped and Molly and I both asked if we were forcing you and you said -."

"No. It was true. It's true. You never forced me, Sherlock."

"I hope not, John – I - ."

"No, you never forced me. I promise you."

"I mean – I only – I only wanted -." Sherlock's hands were beginning to shake. _Is this the end, is this the way he'll end it, reviewing the beginning, I don't know if I can handle this not this way in bed with my arms around him it can't end like this dear god no no no _Sherlock was terrified, but tried to remain supportive for John.

"I know, it's all right," John assured his friend, but he didn't turn around. Sherlock continued to dust his lips and cheek against John's skin, lightly skimming him, hoping to coax John to turn around to face him.

"John?"

"Mmm?"

"Will you – will you tell me - ?"

"Mmm?"

"When you came to me with Molly. Who – how did you decide to do it? To approach me - like that?"

"Mmm. Yes, well, I'll tell you, Sherlock, you – ah, _reappeared_."

"John."

"Yes, you fucking reappeared."

"John, love."

"Sorry, it's still raw sometimes, to tell you the truth."

"All right, all right, that's fine – I, I -."

"You _reappeared_."

"I reappeared."

"Yes, and it was painful and _joyful_ – and all that -."

Sherlock could feel John's muscles twitching, rearranging – he tightened his grip on him.

"And Molly and I were – after – after the initial, you know – we were delirious with happiness, but when we – whenever we were in bed together – it was almost worse than when you were gone - no it _was_ worse, much worse – whenever we – god the -."

"When you had sex -." Sherlock wanted to be clear.

"Yes. Well, the weeping and wailing – Ahaha, it was just too much. Molly should be here for this, really."

"We'll tell her."

"Ok." John took a deep breath, getting a little control back. "Um, so -."

"Weeping and wailing," Sherlock prompted.

"Yes. Aghm. We realized then that it was _you_ we were missing in – in – when we were together. That it was your reappearance that made your absence even more – god – unbearable. Then I think Molly talked to you, yes?"

"Yes." Sherlock remembered a spare interview Molly had had with him only a few weeks before John and Molly had approached him, offering to 'share.' He had come to the lab alone, John had gone with Lestrade to the Yard to follow a new lead on a case. Sherlock and Molly were alone together in the lab and she had done it again.

"Still sad."

"What? Pardon?"

"You know what I said."

"Molly," Sherlock used his warning tone, as he bore down hard into his microscope, trying to seem unflappable.

"Don't warn me. I know why you're sad, too. You miss him. Even in his – presence you're – lacking him. Because of me. Because we're married."

Sherlock had been shocked into silence by Molly's dead-on observation. He couldn't help looking up from his work, his lips parted, his eyebrows were raised as she'd leaned in and whispered, grasping his knee.

"I thought so. And I think you miss me, a little, too. Sherlock. It can be different."

Sherlock remembered he had been speechless, but had been able to look back to his samples under the microscope.

"I don't know what you mean," he managed to remark casually, he thought, over his shoulder.

Molly hadn't sniffed or harrumphed. She'd only patted Sherlock's knee where she'd touched him and walked off calmly, leaving the lab. And that was the last time he'd seen her before Molly and John had come over. Their first night as three.

"Yes, she'd quite surprised me. Again."

"Yes. Then she had her work cut out for her." John continued.

"Of course. To convince you." Sherlock hung his head. He knew now, for certain, that had it not been for Molly, John would be forever out of his reach.

"That's right, I think it was three or four weeks - ?"

"Yes,"

"Every night, every night – then we'd go to bed and - god it was a blood bath, the the fucking, the crying, the holding. We did get rather desperate for you. I – I was desperate. Then Molly said it, she put words to it she said – I don't remember – something along the lines of 'we need him here with us in bed.' And I – Ahaha, I thought it was mad at first. Then I realized that was the only way – the only way that we could – that we would be able to – go on. Then I couldn't imagine asking you. But Molly was persistent. She rehearsed me – what to say to you, how to approach you, but I just couldn't do it alone. Molly kept asking if I'd talked to you, night after night. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. Finally, she suggested bringing take-out around to yours."

"Yes."

"And -."

"Yes, and now – we're here. John." Sherlock took a deep breath. "John, if you're – if you need to – take a step back, I – I -."

One of Sherlock's hands was on John's chest, and John gripped it now, rubbing the pad of his thumb across Sherlock's fingers.

"Hmm. Interesting. But, no. . . No, I don't think so."

John turned to his friend, pressing his face into Sherlock's neck, and Sherlock breathed a deep sign of relief to have John facing him at last.

"I can't – I can't leave – you – either of you." John lightly held his friend's shoulder and arm in his hands. Sherlock breathed another deep breath.

"Ok," he said. He wanted to stroke John, pet him, kiss him, but felt a little inhibited, not wanting to put him off. He waited for John to instigate any further contact and he wasn't disappointed. John soon began nuzzling Sherlock's neck, and pressing his erect cock into his leg. Sherlock relaxed and let him, not responding yet, waiting, his hands resting lightly on John's shoulders. He let his friend do what he wanted, not wanting to edit him or influence him. When John gently laid Sherlock back on the mattress, and slid on top of him, Sherlock smiled. _Just like when he's with Molly, _thought Sherlock. _Confident, direct, simple, in control. Just exactly the same how lovely how sweet how delightful_ He let John slide up to kiss him, he let him press his cock against his own, he let him nibble and bite his neck and murmur his name to him and Sherlock threw his head back and felt it all, took it all in. Finally, Sherlock reached down and grasped John's erection against his own, fisting them together.

"Ah,– mmm, it's good – that's good -," John relaxed into it immediately, Sherlock noted with pleasure. Some things were just easier for him.

"Yes. Come here."

John put his arms around his friend's neck, kissing his throat, then his mouth, letting Sherlock do the work. They came almost at the same time, looking into one another's eyes, not daring to break their contact even as their orgasms washed over them. John collapsed on top of Sherlock unapologetically, and Sherlock put his arms around him, unwilling to let him go, even when John tried to roll off.

"Stay on me," he said. "I like to feel your weight on me."

And John stayed.

* * *

_OK, short and sweet so you can get on with your weekend _

_More of A Big Day for Sherlock anon - _

_I think he'll have a chat with Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft may rear his skeevy head, lunch with Molly, John comes home at 5, Molly joins at 6_

_It's just a great big day! _


	35. A Big Day for Sherlock II 050313

_In which Molly and Sherlock have a very serious chat_

_In which Sherlock and Mrs. H. have a somewhat less serious but also important chat_

_In which our three have a brief take-out dinner_

_In which the sofa features importantly_

* * *

_**A Big Day for Sherlock – II- **_

"St. Bartholomew's Hospital, please," Sherlock said to the cabbie as he pulled the car door to. He had just enough time to meet Molly at the appointed place if the London traffic would cooperate. He'd allowed ten extra minutes above the amount of time the trip should take, and once the cab was underway and the traffic seemed reasonable, Sherlock was able to relax, and review the events of the morning.

He and John had shared coffee and toast before they'd dressed for the day. He thought that he and John had made a bit of progress if only to have been together that morning and to agree to go slowly, now, to enjoy the progress of days in one another's company, all three of them. They agreed to bring Molly up to date on what they'd talked about, as well. In terms of John and his issues concerning his sexual life, the doctor had thrown up his hands at not being able to explain to Sherlock, nor indeed to understand for himself why he continued to struggle internally while he was able to enjoy his wife and friend together in bed.

"I suppose it's all the societal taboos that have been put in place, willy nilly." John had shrugged and said 'I'm sorry,' for the umpteenth time.

John was ready to leave for the clinic about an hour before Sherlock was to leave to meet Molly. He was gathering up his lap top and his keys, and turned to his friend before he'd left. Sherlock saw him turn, and stepped over to him, his head tilted in question, but smiling.

"What is it John?"

"Nothing – just - I think it'll pass, yeah? It's a phase. Some adjustments to be made."

"Perhaps. Have I – ? I hope I haven't been - been too – in bed, that is -."

"No, no. It's not in bed. It's never been in bed, has it? It's here." John touched his own forehead with a fingertip.

"Ok," Sherlock took another in a series of deep breaths.

"Yes – well I'll – Oh, give my wife my love?" Sherlock had told John that he would be meeting Molly for lunch.

"Of course. See you at 5?" But Sherlock couldn't help refrain from stopping John with his hand on his shoulder, pulling him to him in, hugging him, pressing his cheek to John's hair. John endured it and then responded after a moment, realizing what Sherlock wanted and they held each other for some moments. At length they broke apart and stood awkwardly, shyly before John spoke.

"We're getting a little – a little – ."

"Yes, a little ridiculous. I'm quite certain." Sherlock was smiling, however.

"Well, I'll – ok?"

"Yes, John, go, go, I'm sorry to keep you -."

"I'll see you later."

"Yes, later." John had finally managed to get out the door.

* * *

Sherlock broke from his reverie as the cab pulled up to the side of the hospital where Molly would be waiting for him, and there she was, waving with a carrier bag of something. He rolled down the window as the car pulled up.

"What have you got? I thought we were going out."

"I've got some sandwiches, it's a beautiful day, come on. I don't want to sit down in some crowded place."

Sherlock quite agreed, and popped out of the cab, paying the cabbie.

"There's a bit of green space around the corner, ok?"

"That's fine, here, let me." Sherlock took the bag from her and the two walked in silence until they found an unoccupied bench near some trees and bushes. As they sat and Sherlock looked up at Molly.

"Our first date." Sherlock's lips curled on one side of his mouth.

"Date." Molly repeated, furrowing her brow. "Hmm. Yes, I suppose so." She handed out the food, sandwiches and bottled water and briefly reviewed their history to herself. She'd met Sherlock at Bart's, of course, worked with him for a couple of years, then John had come into Sherlock's life, and consequently hers, too. Then suddenly, Sherlock needed her, and she'd helped him. They'd had a brief fling when he'd been hiding out just after his faked jump, and then he was gone for 18 months. Then he'd reappeared, and the three of them had miraculously connected again. _Completely incomprehensible. Mad. Lunatic. How did we manage it? How did I? I love it. I love them, _she thought.

"Perfect," Sherlock accepted his sandwich, and regarded Molly.

"Molly, lovely Molly. I have - been wondering, if I may?"

Molly nodded her assent to be questioned by him, in a manner, she knew, that was going to be close to the heart of things if not dead on. Sherlock continued.

"Are we – John and I – are we _enough_ for you, Molly?"

"Ah!" Molly laughed over her food. "That's not bad. Not a bad beginning at all. I am – a little – what?"

Sherlock was relieved that his question hadn't been an offense and encouraged by Molly's response he decided to go ahead and push the envelope.

"A little bit of a nymphomaniac?"

"Oh, do you think?" Molly considered carefully without rejecting his assessment out of hand, though it was clear to him she wouldn't have chosen the word herself.

"Well, perhaps that's overstating it." Sherlock conceded.

"I prefer 'sexual adventuress.'"

"Ah, I see. How does a sexual adventuress marry my best friend?"

"Hmmhmmhmm."

"All right. What – ah, kind of history would that - ."

"Hmm. Men and women. And uni was very interesting. Various combinations. Various – ah – subcultures. But, as you can see, I prefer men."

"Yes, I see that you do." The two were quiet for a few moments as they ate before Sherlock spoke again. "So, what I must ask, now, I mean, I think it's time I asked-." Sherlock took Molly's free hand in his.

"Yes, it's fine, go ahead, love."

"Well, Molly, my dear sweet love, why didn't you wait for me?"

"_Sherlock_." Molly pursed her lips. She knew it would be this _kind_ of question, but didn't know he would ask this particular question. _Right to the heart of things, of course._ She thought it had been answered a thousand times already, however, both in the past, and in their current relationship.

"You told me _not_ to. You told me you had no idea when or even_ if_ you would be back. You told me you would very probably be _killed_. Oh, love, you told me in no uncertain terms to take care of John _and_ to let him take care of me, and – you knew what that might mean. You remember all that, don't you?"

"Yes, love. You're right, of course." Sherlock pursed his lips and raked his hands through his hair.

"But – I'll tell you another aspect of the – well, the reason I -."

"I must – I must just tell you, before you go on, I should have long before now, if you'll allow me? -." Sherlock squeezed Molly's hand to stop her.

"What, Sherlock?"

"Our - short time together – it was – Molly, love - it was very important to me when I – when I was away – our _time_ together became a larger and larger reality for me – as time wore on. And when it was over, and I was preparing to return to London – I thought – I thought that we -. Well, I suppose by then it had become – rather a large fantasy."

"No, love, not at all." Molly tried to soothe him. Sherlock continued.

"Um. Then I heard from Mycroft that you and John - ."

"Oh, love." Molly put her hand on Sherlock's arm. "Those first few months must have been very hard on you."

"Oh, yes, Molly, yes. I missed you both terribly. Even though John was -. I must tell you, I still remember us and – I _wonder_ what we would have been – together."

"Yes, I thought so. And we've sorted it out, now, haven't we?"

"Yes, yes." Sherlock tried to contain his flood of rising emotion into this one repeated word. He squeezed Molly's hand in his. "How? How on earth did you know – my behavior, my -?"

"Yes, your reserve? Your distance? I don't know. Love. And luck. I think."

"But how did you know I would – accept such a – such a situation?"

"I didn't. But I'm sure John told you. We were desperate. We were_ desperate _for you_,_ Sherlock."

Sherlock looked at his hands.

"You married rather – quickly, though?"

"Not at all. I'm 32. My family were delighted."

Molly and Sherlock smiled at each other and Molly's ridiculous ruse.

"All right. It was – faster than – than I would have liked. But I was – oh, love, we were so empty without you. Don't you know that we were?"

Molly's eyes relived for Sherlock the pain that she and John must have shared in their ignorance of his whereabouts – in his absence.

"But, also, Sherlock, I didn't want him to – get away – from us ."

"From me."

"Well, yes, love. Didn't I do right?" Molly looked at Sherlock with grave concern. He seemed to have something very heavy on his conscious and somewhat suddenly. _What's happened?_ she thought. Had there been a row again between the two men? She saw Sherlock close his eyes and drop his head. Molly went on.

"Also, there would have been a scene, wouldn't there, if I were unmarried, sleeping with John, and you suddenly got back? Did you want that kind of a scene with him?"

"I would never have interfered with -."

"No, I know, but it would still have been a scene."

"I suppose." Sherlock smiled somewhat wanly at Molly. "I just don't like the notion of having forced John into something he might not have chosen for himself."

"No one chooses his sexuality, Sherlock. John stayed with us, we never forced him. He'll tell you the same thing."

"Yes, he has done, we talked this morning." Sherlock related the exchange he'd had with John in the morning and assured her that they had parted affectionately.

"And one other thing, Sherlock, concerning John. I love him. I'm in love with him. In case it needed saying."

"Of course you do, I know you do." Sherlock reflected on all they'd been saying to one another and another cloud crossed his mind. "I'm not sure I'll enjoy keeping some of this from John."

"That's why I didn't tell you. But now, you will have to keep it from him, I'm afraid. Some of it may hurt him. Perhaps later, when some time has gone by?"

"Of course, of course. It's just that – he's having such an awful time of it, and I can't help but feel rather responsible."

"Yes, I can imagine. But he has to get through it on his own."

Molly and Sherlock finished their food, and sat on the bench quietly for some moments. Sherlock sensed that Molly had more to say and waited for her.

"I also wanted to say," Molly began, "I'm – I'm very sorry that you're the one left out of things, out of the – conventional marriage." she began. "I know – I mean, I can only imagine how you feel sometimes. And I know that – it makes you sad sometimes. I'm so sorry. But – and I'm sorry about this, too – I'm fairly certain you are able to take it better than he might have. Forgive me. You'll have to forgive me. But haven't we managed to pull it all together, though? And make a – a life together for ourselves? So far?"

"You certainly have," Sherlock smiled at her. "I'm very grateful to you. Dear." Sherlock held Molly's hand, the one with the rings, squeezing her fingers, running his thumb over the shiny rock and the gold.

"Oh, love." Molly hung her head.

"It's all right. I'm all right. You're – you're quite right. John is – the normal one – the -."

"That's not at all what I meant -."

"No, no, you're right, I'm sure – in the long run – I –I -." Sherlock stood for lack of anything else to do with the urge to bolt that he suddenly had. He recalled the last weeks of his mission alone, the excitement mounting in him at the thought of returning to London, his jubilation at having accomplished his herculean task, his thrill at the notion of returning to John and the Work, of returning to Molly and having something like a normal life. Normal. _Normal. _ All ether. Amaranthine.

"Don't go like this, please don't do that to us. Not now." Molly's voice was commanding but she couldn't hide the fear underlying her command – Sherlock could hear it, anyway.

"I won't. I won't. I promise. I just - ." He stood for a moment longer fighting his emotions, and then sat back down next to Molly and collected himself before he spoke again.

"I'm genuinely grateful, Molly, for what you've done. I'm very – I'm – I've never been so -."

"The word is 'happy.'" Molly said.

"Yes, I suppose it is." He took and squeezed her hand again, and he kissed the fingers. Then he brushed his thumb over the rings again, looking at them and kissed the rings as he looked into her eyes.

"Thank you," she breathed, a hand in his hair, knowing that she had been forgiven. They held still, wrapped in one another's presence, Molly's hand in his hair, Sherlock holding her hand to his lips for another few moments. Then they resumed their seats on the bench as if they were just another pair of friends sharing lunch.

"We must talk together much, much more than this, love. How have we put it off?"

"These things take time, Sherlock. It took as long as it took. Let's not judge it too much, hmm?. We'll talk more, I promise. But I must run, now, I'll just make it back in time." She gathered up the papers and bottles, and led the way out of the tiny park, back toward the hospital.

"I'll catch a cab from here. Will you walk the rest of the way? Or shall I drop you?"

"No, no, I'll walk. I'll see you tonight? Usual time?" Molly was smiling, touching his chest.

"Yes, love." Sherlock leaned down and kissed her lips, whispering to her. "When I found out that you and John had married all I could think was 'but she's mine, she's always been mine.'" Sherlock touched her cheek with his finger tips and moved a stray strand of hair from her face as the wind whipped them both.

"And I always will be." Molly was looking into Sherlock's eyes with the gravitas of the ages.

"Promise me?" he said, smiling.

"I promise. You and John. Always."

"Yes, yes. Always. You and John."

* * *

Sherlock gave an address to the cab driver, and settled in for the ride. How had he neglected Molly so badly, he thought? How has this talk taken all this time? What? Six months? But she was rather magnanimous about it, never complained about her neglect. Never begged for attention. _But she asks for what she needs when she needs it, _Sherlock thought_, and in the end this talk was all about me, wasn't it? Me and my needs, my pathetic – no, no, it was old business that had to be dealt with. She knows it too, now it's out in the open between us, as it should be. We can deal with it together and move on. _Sherlock heaved a sign of relief and some contentment. _She's so easy and reasonable._ He thought. _John, on the other hand. How can I help him? How can I ease his struggle? Can I at all? _

The cab slowed and stopped, Sherlock paid and got out, popping quickly into the food specialties shop. He located jars of lemon curd and a lingonberry jam, paid for them, and caught another cab to the flat. When he entered the building, he knocked on Mrs. Hudson's door and she answered in only a few moments.

"Oh, Sherlock, dear, how are you, love – Everything all right?" Sherlock pursed his lips, knowing that his landlady would be surprised by a social call from him.

"Fine, just fine, Mrs. Hudson. May I - come in?" Sherlock was aware of the time, and didn't want to be caught in the hall if John were to come home early.

"Oh, of course, of course, would you like a cup of tea? I've just put the kettle on, oh, you'll have cup with me, won't you?"

"I'd be delighted, thanks so much," Sherlock let her conduct him through a narrow hallway to a parlour and then he was standing in the kitchen doorway, as she prepared a tea tray, chatting all the while about little things, her hands dancing in the air for emphasis. When she paused, he took the opportunity to place his package of jars on the kitchen counter.

"I've brought you some jam, Mrs. Hudson, if I may presume."

Mrs. Hudson looked up from her work with an astonished face, taking Sherlock's package in her hands.

"What? Oh, how lovely! What have we here? Lemon curd and _lingonberry_ jam. Oh, this brand is hard to find, I only know one little shop that carries it, and it's the best, oh my goodness! Oh, this is special." She stopped nattering and a look of seriousness came across her face.

"Is everything all right, Sherlock?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson, don't worry. I just need to have a little chat. If it's all right?"

The older woman smiled half a smile and her gossiping-elder-lady mien seemed to fall away from her.

"Hmmhmm. I see," she said with good humoured seriousness. All right, then, love, we'll do just that." She hoisted the tray and the two made their way to the parlour.

"I'll be mother, shall I? I might as well." said Mrs. Hudson, as she poured the tea from her spot on the sofa, the tea tray before her. Sherlock smiled as she poured _I do believe she is the closest thing I have to – to – oh. Oh, well. _Sherlock focused his attention on the matter at hand as he accepted the proffered cup and saucer from Mrs. Hudson's hand. _She already knows, _he thought, _what am I doing here? Ah, yes. The human touch. The empathy, the sympathy, the courtesy, really. And no one deserves these things more, no one, no one. I'll let her start. She's so damned smart, she'll get right to it. _Sherlock watched his landlady prepare her own cup of tea, silent now, with a tight smile on her face, and finally she faced him.

"So, dear? What is it you wanted to chat about? It's not girl trouble, is it?"

Sherlock smiled _Yes, yes, my own dear Mrs. Hudson, right to the heart of the matter._

"No, Mrs. Hudson, not girl trouble. No girl trouble at all at the moment, since you ask." He smiled at her, and lifted his eyebrows encouraging her to keep guessing.

Mrs. Hudson smiled and nodded, then sipped her tea.

"Hmmhmm. Well then, it must be _boy_ trouble."

"Mrs. _Hudson_." Sherlock regarded his host with great affection and smiled at her. He continued in a tone of some self mockery. "How on earth would you know it's 'boy trouble,' as you call it?"

"Well, I was treated to a lovely scene of quite tender kissing and holding in the pouring rain just last night, wasn't I? See? Right out this window. Looked like there might have been some trouble, but it seemed that everything was set straight in the end? Hmmhmm. That is, in a manner of speaking."

Mrs. Hudson had indicated her parlour window and Sherlock stood up and noticed that her curtains would have perfectly framed him and John this morning when they'd stood in the rain holding one another as they kissed at some length. He smiled, but inwardly cringed a little at the thought of John's knowing about it. Mrs. Hudson stood up from her chair, as well, moving to Sherlock's side. She felt him heave a deep sigh and put his arm around her. His tone was kindly and intimate.

"Shame on you, Mrs. Hudson, spying on people in the middle of the night."

"Ha! It's not spying if it goes on in the street and I happen to be looking out my window, is it?"

"No, of course not. I'm sorry if we – ah - disturbed you."

"Not at all. A woman of my years likes to be reminded a little of love's young dream. I hope everything's all right now?"

"I think so," Sherlock said, and turned back to his chair, as Mrs. Hudson returned to the sofa. Sherlock paused before continuing.

"I did want to – ah – discuss the _whole_ picture with you, Mrs. Hudson, if you don't mind?"

Mrs. Hudson smiled and shrugged.

"And you don't mind my – interrogating you a little?"

"Certainly not, what do you want to ask me?"

"Well, just – what do you – perceive?" Sherlock looked carefully at his landlady as she smiled and poured herself another cup of tea.

"Hmmhmm," she laughed to herself, "It's – well, it's all of you, isn't it? All three? Yes, I'm quite sure. John and Molly and you. Together." She looked at him frankly, without embarrassment or scandal.

_John and Molly and me. Together. Every night. All night. How delightful. _Sherlock was only a little surprised by Mrs. Hudson's immediate acceptance of the situation. The next bit of the conversation would only be formality, he knew.

"Well, you're right, Mrs. Hudson. That's exactly what it is. All three of us." Sherlock checked her expression before going on.

"Not so hard to know."

"No, I don't suppose so. Mrs. Hudson – is it – is it quite all right – with you?"

"Well, I think it's _delightful_. Perhaps a little mad, but perfectly delightful, isn't it?" Mrs. Hudson flashed a smile at Sherlock that made her look 20 years younger. "But first and foremost, Sherlock, and you already know this, there are two things about your private life: It's yours. And it's private. Or as private as you care to make it."

Sherlock dipped his head in embarrassment as he remembered the pictures of Molly, and as he thought of John's chagrin when he would find out that Mrs. Hudson had seen them together on the street.

"But, a bored lonely woman can't help but notice things, you know. I hope you'll forgive an old busybody for looking out her window in the middle of the night when she hears noises."

"Of course, of course, Mrs. Hudson, it's _I_ who should be apologizing for disturbing you."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous."

"The thing is – ."

"Ah. Yes, what else is there, Sherlock? How can I help?"

"John is a little - well, he's still _new_ to all this -."

"There you go again, Sherlock Holmes, turning _another_ one."

"Mrs. _Hudson_."

"Soon there won't be any properly straight men left in London for nice young ladies."

Sherlock pursed his lips into a tight smile, though he was delighted with Mrs. Hudson's playfulness even on this tender matter. He lowered his tone, as if they had been at a crowded café.

"The _last_ one was a one-off, Mrs. Hudson, and I never _turned_ anyone, either. And for goodness sake, it was five years ago, before I even moved in here."

"Well, he _was_ married."

"Operative word: _was_. And that doesn't mean anything, anyway."

"Apparently not."

The pair laughed together.

"How can I help, love?"

"Yes, well, if you wouldn't mind keeping it to yourself?"

"Of course, Sherlock. To the grave."

"And if Mycroft were to appear . . ."

"Say no more. He'll have to torture me. Oh dear." Mrs. Hudson was somewhat alarmed by Sherlock's look of careful consideration when she mentioned torture.

"No, no, I'm confident he wouldn't try it, Mrs. Hudson, though it is an interesting -. No, no, no. Ridiculous. And then, as far as John is concerned, as I say, it's still a little new for him -."

"Discretion shall come to be known as my middle name."

"But nothing extraordinary, either, please. If we could be as _normal_ as possible?"

"Well, what other would I be?"

Sherlock smiled and leaned toward this lovely wise woman and lowered his voice.

"There mustn't be any more naughty little winks, Mrs. Hudson. Not to John anyway. If that's all right?"

"No, of course not, love. That one time was only meant for you, after all."

"All right." Sherlock finished his tea and replaced the cup and saucer on the tray.

"Mrs. Hudson, I'm quite taken with you, you know." Sherlock beamed at her.

"Well, naturally. But it's lovely of you to tell me, dear." Mrs. Hudson lowered her voice somewhat. "It's lovely to see you so happy, after all the trouble you've been through. They seem to be taking good care of you, are they?"

"Yes, they are," said Sherlock as he smiled at her, "And so are you. Thank you. And thanks so much for the lovely cup of tea." Sherlock stood.

"My pleasure, I'll come with you to the door, shall I?" And the two made their way. At the door, he took her in his arms, whispering.

"Mrs. Hudson. Lovely Mrs. Hudson."

He kissed her cheek briefly and bounded up the stairs. Mrs. Hudson shut the door, whispering to herself with a smile as she thought of Molly.

"Lucky girl, lucky, _lucky_, lucky girl."

* * *

Sherlock bounced into the flat to find John seated in his usual chair.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Sherlock noticed that John was in Sherlock's dressing gown and his hair was a little wet in spots.

"I took the liberty while you were out – had a quick bath, hope you don't mind?"

"Not in the least." said Sherlock. _How delightful, _he thought.

"You – ah – talked to Mrs. Hudson?"

"Well, yes, John, she – ah - ."

"That's all right – I – I've had time to absorb it – she knows about us all? – she's known a while – I suppose?"

"I think so. And she let me know – I should tell you – she saw us in the street last night – ah, this morning. Ah - you know – in the rain."

"Jesus."

"She's fine with it, John."

"She is?"

"Perfectly. I promise you."

"I – well - ."

Sherlock said nothing as he stood before John, hoping this humiliation wouldn't be too unbearable for him. He wondered, though, why the revelation to Mycroft had been easier to take? _Well, he has to see Mrs. Hudson every day, and she's a mother figure to both of us. _ _Perhaps slightly more embarrassing. _

"Ok. Ok. Jesus." John put his hands on his face and Sherlock tried to ignore the scene.

"I, ah – had some tea downstairs already, but if you'd like a cup I can -."

"Over _tea_? You talked with her over tea, Sherlock? 'Oh, John's a bummer, pass the sugar?' That sort of thing?"

"Shh, John." Sherlock had remained standing and moved around behind the doctor's chair. He didn't ask, but just put his hands on John's shoulders, digging in gently at first, and then deep and deeper.

"Ah. Thanks -." John leaned his head forward. "Sorry, I'm just -."

"I completely understand," Sherlock purred, enjoying his contact with John, though it was fairly one-sided at the moment.

"Ok, um, If I could just - Mrs. Hudson knows, Mycroft knows."

"Yes," Sherlock agreed, kneading John's tight shoulder muscles.

"Is – is that all? Jesus, does Greg know? Do any of the -."

"No, no – no one there. That's good, move your head around."

"Ok. Anyone else? Anyone I should -."

"I don't think so." Sherlock finished his somewhat perfunctory rubdown, squeezing one of John's shoulders briefly before stepping around to face the doctor again.

"Ok." John was still a bundle of nerves, Sherlock saw, completely keyed up.

"Will you – let me, John?" Sherlock blurted it out, not at all thinking first.

"Let you? Let you what?" John looked up, truly bewildered. Sherlock looked away, suddenly inexplicably bashful.

"Oh, never mind."

"Oh, god, I'm sorry. I'm not, ah. Not right now, I hope you don't think – I'm just not -."

"It's fine, John. I thought I could – it's fine."

Sherlock dropped into his own chair, and the men passed several long moments in a an embarrassed and idiotic silence. The door downstairs slammed, and Sherlock could tell it was Molly. He leapt up.

"Molly's brought Chinese food. I'll help her." And he was down the stairs like a shot, leaving John in his chair. Molly was alarmed at the speed with which he approached her.

"Molly! Did you remember the lo mein?"

But in her ear he quickly whispered,

"He needs you, let me take these. Answer me about the lo mein, now."

"Yes! Lo mein and the prawn _toast_!"

Sherlock winced. _Too loud she's a liability he'll know immediately he's getting too canny for his own good well he's learning my methods he'll forgive me even so he knows I know he needs her where's the harm_?

Sherlock and Molly entered the flat. John was standing at the desk, looking at them with a knowing smile on his face.

"_Sher_lock," John said, "I didn't _mean_ -."

"It's fine, let me do the food. Bowls all right?" The detective dipped into the kitchen with the bags of take away. Molly stowed her bag, and John helped her with her coat. He put his arms around her, and she dug her arms into his robe, putting her hands on his skin, nuzzling him.

"How does he know?" John asked.

"That you like to be with me when you're – feeling out of sorts? You have fairly well established patterns you keep to."

"I suppose that's the nice way of saying I'm predictable."

"Well. How did you do today?"

"Fairly normal at the clinic. And the stupid voice thing? That was very minimal, really. It usually is after – after we – ah -."

"Ah," said Molly, delighted. "You and he – this morning?"

"Well, just – yes – if you must know."

"I must," Molly smiled and kissed him. _Ooo, wish I had been with them for that – wonder what they did –_

"Just a little friendly frottage, Molly, nothing you haven't seen before." Sherlock brought two bowls toward them. "Oh, do you want food? Or – aghm - one another?" he asked.

"No, no, dinner first, hmm? Thanks, love."

"Ta. Sherlock." John waited for Sherlock to turn back to him. He felt rather ashamed of himself for putting his friend off just before Molly's arrival, but he had felt rather unwell. He made a mental note to make it up to him, somehow, in some way. Later.

"Yes, John?"

"Thank you."

Sherlock smiled at John and dipped his head away, on his way back to the kitchen.

"Be right back - red wine ok?"

"Fine."

Sherlock headed back to the kitchen to retrieve his own bowl and wine and glasses. He was relieved to see John was already much more relaxed and enjoying himself again in Molly's company. _Thank god for Molly what would I do where would I be without her she's the saving grace my saving grace I'd be alone without her but why can't I help him the way she does? Why can't I calm him, soothe him that way? He says it's a phase wait it out wait it out wait out the phase._

The three made short work of their meals and the wine. John and Molly were seated on the sofa and Sherlock perched on the coffee table, facing them. Molly and John chatted about various topics concerning either the clinic or the hospital, there was always something or other that they found to chat about. Sherlock simply listened with one ear and ate a small amount of food, and monitored the wine, refilling the glasses as needed. _It's all right, _he thought. _We're all right, we're going to be all right. She'll help me with John. Molly knows, she knows so well what he needs. Look, he's completely relaxed in her company _In general, Sherlock was greatly relieved that the exchange he'd had with John that morning was becoming more and more a thing of the past.

At length, John looked up at Sherlock during a lull in the conversation he and Molly were having about some hospital policy. He smiled, and patted the spot next to his, beckoning Sherlock to sit on the sofa with them. Sherlock complied, and sank into the sofa, breathing another deep breath of relief to be in the presence of his lovely people. John gripped his wrist a moment, squeezing it, before returning his attention to Molly and their discussion. Sherlock sat on the sidelines content to have their voices wash over him. He even closed his eyes, letting their presence, their voices bathe him and envelope him. He knew Molly would be able to see his look of pleasure. He snapped his eyes open just to see, and sure enough, Molly was smiling at him, recognizing his contentment, and he watched as John took in Molly's gaze, and turn his head to him.

"See how happy he is, love? Just to be with us?" Molly said to John, her gaze still steadily trained on Sherlock.

"Yes. It's lovely."

"Yes, it is. He is."

"We're not boring you, mate?"

"Not at all." Sherlock breathed very quietly, smiling. John and Molly returned to their conversation but they were soon engaged in a brief flirtation followed by some involved kissing. Sherlock relieved them of their wine glasses, and drained his own, placing all three on a side table. Sherlock was sorely tempted to touch and kiss them, but held back, wanting to make things as right for John as he could, but John surprised him when he reached out to grip his wrist again, murmuring, as he nuzzled Molly,

"Stay close, Sherlock. Please don't drift away." Sherlock's head swam with pleasure.

Molly soon had John's robe open, and was stroking his chest and abdomen as the couple kissed. John's cock was already standing at attention and Sherlock was getting a little anxious. _It would be so easy, _Sherlock thought, _to just lean over and - but wait, wait for Molly, she'll let me know when and if I should -. _Molly stood somewhat abruptly, and slipped her pants off out from under her skirt. She rearranged herself across John's legs, straddling him without actually mounting him and John put both his arms around her, pulling her against him, holding her hard as they continued to taste one another's mouths as well as the skin on their necks and faces.

"Sherlock," said Molly, and Sherlock looked up at her, but she was completely engaged with John, in their kissing. Nonetheless, Sherlock sat closer, sliding his hand over John's abdomen, up his chest, and leaned in to taste the salt on his neck.

"Oh, god, love," John breathed as he felt Sherlock touch him, nibble at him, kiss him. Sherlock smiled to himself to have this affect on his friend when he was already quite involved with his wife. He felt Molly put a hand in his hair and felt her lean away from John a little. Sherlock smiled, looking up at her, and then realized her intent as he looked down at John.

John's cock stood erect and enraged between the couple's bodies, and Sherlock couldn't ignore it: he slowly lowered himself to it and put his mouth on the tip.

"Oh, _fuck_," John whispered at the contact without breaking eye contact with Molly. Sherlock sucked and kissed the head for a moment, then sank down the length of him, listening to John hiss out his pleasure. Then, with his fingertips, Sherlock traced up Molly's thigh, and though he had an uncomfortable angle, he managed to enter a finger into her, then two, gently probing her. He added another finger, she was so wet and open for him.

"Sherlock," She sang, and she opened her eyes. "He's ours now, John, you see that don't you?"

"Yes, love, yes," John half whispered half hissed back to her. Molly leaned in and kissed him, moaning a little as she felt Sherlock's fingers pulsing into her. Then continued to speak gently to John.

"He wants to be ours. He loves us and he never wants to leave us. He's afraid, you know – he's afraid of us breaking apart, of leaving us."

"I know – I know he is, but we're never -."

"No, never, love. And it's everything we've wanted, isn't it?" Molly assured John, kissing him over Sherlock's head, gently gripping a handful of Sherlock's dark curls between her fingers.

"It's our life, John."

"Yes," John whispered.

"It doesn't matter what other people think, or what they call it."

"No, no, of course not, oh, god -."

"Good, love, that's good." Molly had had enough of this goddamned inner voice issue, and was determined to put a stop to it, though she wasn't sure how she could manage it. It was hurting Sherlock, making him feel responsible for John's pain, and it wasn't helping John in the least. She hoped this moment would have some effect. _We'll see, _She thought.

"Sherlock, love?" Molly prompted, and Molly lifted her hips up slightly from John's thighs as Sherlock drew his mouth away from John's cock, taking it in his hand, and pressed the tip into Molly's opening as she slowly descended again into John's lap with an abandoned moan.

"Oh, for godssake, oh _fuck_, Sherlock, Molly." John whispered as he reached and gripped Sherlock's neck, pulling him to him, locking his mouth against his friend's, holding him hard. Sherlock's breath was taken away at this initiative of John's to haul him so forcefully into a kiss. It quite weakened him, but made him feel safe and secure at the same time to have John's commanding grip at the back of his head, holding him, guiding him. They continued their kiss as Molly began to move, leaning in to steal a kiss from someone when she felt she could. She smiled as she ground up and down against John, trying to steal kisses as she went, as though she were on some crazy carnival ride. Soon the three were trading kisses back and forth as they went, a wet sloppy affair that soon had them all giggling like kids.

Sherlock turned his attention to Molly and unbuttoned her blouse slowly as she started to pick up her pace riding John. She watched him as he took his time with her clothes, and it drove her a little wild to watch his meticulously careful fingers work each little button. Finally her blouse was gone and she was reaching a plateau, then John reached behind her and unclasped her bra, and Sherlock soon had it off her shoulders, and thrown away. Then Sherlock quickly unclasped and unzipped her skirt, now, lifting it over her head as she continued to buck and grind against John. She came against John at last, throwing herself against him, setting her teeth in his neck as she rode out the last shudders of her release. John continued to pulse into her as he waited for her, holding her, stroking her cheek and her hair. At length he asked gently.

"Molly love, do you think you can turn around? For Sherlock?"

Molly smiled and rose up off of John, standing. She set her back to him, seeing Sherlock at the other end of the room, shucking off his clothes.

"He's lovely, isn't he, John? And he's ours."

Sherlock looked up as he cast aside his last bit of clothing and approached them, smiling. Molly stepped over to him, and they embraced. John watched them, swooning a little at how lovely they were together. He watched as Sherlock swept Molly up in his arms, as she wrapped her legs around his waist, watched as Sherlock brought her over to where John was seated on the sofa and watched him set her down, landing in front of him as Sherlock smiled down at John, gently delivering his wife to him again.

Molly felt John's hands on her hips, as she stood with her back to him.

"Ready, love?" he asked, as he gently guided her to sit in his lap, gently pressing his cock into her from behind. Then he held her in place, gripping her breasts, and nuzzling her back, nipping her gently. She took a moment to feel securely seated on John's cock before she reached out in front of her, to where Sherlock stood. She wrapped her arms around his waist, taking his cock into her mouth without a moment's pause. Sherlock arched his back as he stood before her and John, giving John a exquisite show of rippling muscles and abandon. John ran his hands up and down Molly's back, now gripping her bottom, now her hips, as he ground into her gently. She maintained an easy pace against him, circling her hips around and around.

Molly loved being between them, being the conduit to bring them together. As the three began to move together, finding a rhythm, she felt their two pairs of hands on her back, John's creeping up from behind, Sherlock's descending her back, and they connected and held one another. She felt it, the connection, gripping one another's hands near the middle of her back and she gripped Sherlock's waist tighter, and ground down against John harder when she felt it. Their pace quickly became a little impossible, and Molly lost contact with Sherlock once or twice as John did with Molly, as the three bucked and pulsed against one another.

Molly felt John getting closer as he broke his connection with Sherlock, and gripped her hips harder, pitching against her faster and pulling her against him with more and more urgency.

"Close," John confessed, and was soon swearing his head off as usual, and emptying himself into Molly, repeating his favored profanity at such moments, _'fuck, fuck, fuck.'_

Sherlock never felt very comfortable fucking while standing up, and when he saw that John was done, he lifted Molly to him, and held her for a moment.

"All right?" he asked.

"Mmm? You?"

"Oh, yes - do you mind if we sit?" He guided her to straddle him as he sat down on the sofa. She mounted him easily and rode him gently for a moment.

"You're so lovely together," John said, coming back to himself again. "Why did you marry me, for godssake, Molly? He's so lovely with you, you're so lovely with him, I just don't understand it sometimes - ."

"Shh, love, don't be silly. We're all together, now." She held her tongue at her impulse to say 'marriage is a societal convention I had to succumb to,' or 'if I hadn't married you, how would we all come to be together?' She knew these things would hurt John. She avoided the issue at all costs with him, and instead tried to soothe him, shield him from some of the truths of their union. She justified it all with her love for him. It was true, she loved him and couldn't do without him. The same as Sherlock. _What's a nice girl to do? _

Sherlock was smiling up at her, and she leaned in to kiss him. When she broke from him, he turned to look at John who was relaxing on the sofa next to them, smiling.

"Stay close, John," Sherlock smiled and said, "Please don't drift away from us?"

John slid in close to Sherlock, nipping his neck, and gripping Molly's bottom.

"What's that, loves?" John asked, "Can't you do without me?" He leaned up to kiss Molly, now.

"No, love," Sherlock replied.

"No, love," Molly said. But then, John backed off a bit, still a hand on Molly's knee, and let the two get closer to their finish together.

"John, close," Sherlock breathed.

John knelt up on the sofa next to the couple and faced Sherlock, nuzzling him and kissing him until he felt Sherlock come to the very limit, his back arching, his neck straining, then John bit him soundly on the neck forcing Sherlock over the edge. It would make a large mark, the doctor thought, but one that he calculated would be hidden by Sherlock's shirt if he buttoned it in the usual way. Sherlock clutched John hard against him as he came into Molly. With his other arm, he gripped Molly against him as well and Molly and John were face to face as Sherlock moaned out his climax and the couple kissed over Sherlock's noises.

When Sherlock opened his eyes after several long moments, Molly was smiling into his face.

"Hi there. I'm not finished yet."

"Hmmhmm. Sorry about that," Sherlock smiled and shrugged, pressing his hands to her face, then stroking her breasts.

"I'll have to wake you early in the morning," Molly said with mischief.

"Wake me any time you like. Wake me in a half hour."

"Ahaha. Down, Molly. Let the poor man be, can't you see we've exhausted him? Come, loves, beddie bye."

"Yes," said Sherlock rising from the sofa, following John and Molly to the bedroom. "It has been a rather big day."

* * *

_Ahaha. That'll be it for Sherlock's big day. I don't know what I thought I had planned, but I'll leave it there, shall I?_

_Next chapter – don't know – but probably something by Sunday/Monday as usual!_

_You guys better tell me what issues you want cleared up cuz: the end is near!_

_I don't know if I'll get to everything people suggest, but I'll try._

_I'd love to hear from you._

_If you're following along with the story, please chime in and say 'hi!' _

_Hope your weekend is shaping up nicely!_

_Love, JennoftheGlenn_


	36. Fluidity

_In which we have a scene from John's past_

_In which John and Molly have quality time_

_In which Sherlock brings dinner home, but first joins the pair for time with Molly_

* * *

**Sexual Fluidity**

_Sexually fluid_, thought John. _Should I be proud of myself? _

He rubbed his face with his hands as he sat at the desk at 221B, his laptop untouched. He was alone in the flat, waiting for Molly and Sherlock to appear from their respective days' activities, and he was thinking about times long past.

He pressed his fingers into his eyes as he recalled the first time. It had been with two cousins, both older boys, visiting with the house, children of his father's brother. One of his uncle's or aunt's birthday party. The place seemed to be suddenly swarming with kids, John remembered, mostly girls and he and his two cousins were the only boys. It was that time with families when children are younger and visits are oftener and there were a few summers in a row when these and other cousins visited John's family home in the country. Birthday party scenes came to life within the black behind John's eyes from that long ago time. After supper, and cake and presents, his two cousins, William and Matthew with John in tow went outside and ran around like hellions, like demons in the dark. William and Matthew lived closer to the city and didn't have all this country to go running in, and John had found them a little wild, literally screaming their glee at all the open space allowed to them suddenly and all the bushes and trees to hide in. All the sticks and rocks to throw at one another. They ran in and out of the house, slamming the doors, hiding and plotting against the girls, the girls who were always a sort of evil enemy. At some point, William, the elder cousin, pointed out an abandoned shed on adjoining property.

"Right, what's that?" And without waiting for answer, he struck out for it running at a good clip, Matthew close behind. John watched their retreating backs, and lit out to catch up, not wanting to be left out.

It was dusk, the light just fading, the sun already gone over the ridge upon which stood this outbuilding, the target of William's interest. John wondered what captured Bill's attention. It was just an old bit of barn that had always been there, but he kept silent.

When they got to the place, they took some time walking around it, and tried a door which was protected with an old padlock. But it was a very rickety security. William looked at it quite smugly, as if it had been made for him, and after a second go round of the small building, he hefted a rock half the size of his head, and brought it down against the hardware nailed into the old splintery wood of the door and sill. He brutalized the closure in three or four strokes of his rock, leaving the hook and eye of the hardware useless and dangling. The boys scoffed at the lock and slipped inside, pausing at the door to let their eyes get accustomed to the darker light.

John watched William as he started exploring along one stretch of a wall of the barn, pulling tools off the wall, looking at them for a moment, and trying to hang them back up with little success in the darkening light. He'd chuck the tools and other things he was looking for on the ground once he'd done with them. John remembered now that Matthew had taken stock of the place visually before he made to grab for anything. The first thing he spotted was an old sleeping bag, laid out under a storage bin, which might have kept it dry from the rain. Matthew beckoned his younger cousin to follow him to it. John remembered the sleeping bag was covered over with twigs and dirt, and was very much disused, but someone had been using this place. What for? John had wondered. Matthew kicked at the sleeping bag, and quickly uncovered a magazine.

"Hey!" Matthew alerted his brother, and the three boys had poured over the pages of naked girls. John remembered that William had taught him all manner of new words for girls' body parts that night, but of particular interest to the three youngsters were a couple of pages in which men were featured with a girl.

"Mine's that big," said William, taking out his dick from his pants, pulling on it.

"Aw! No it isn't!" Matthew leaned over laughing, taking his own prick out. "Even mine's bigger than yours!"

"Not when it's hard."

"Fuck off!"

"Fuck the fuck off! John, what about you?"

John remembered William looking at him shrewdly. Perhaps his elder cousin had been calculating the years, the likelihood of John's relative length and girth. John couldn't help but smile as he remembered his head rush, the smell of the dirt and mould of the barn, the light getting darker and darker, as he opened his pants and produced a rather impressive erection.

"Fuck me!" Matthew had said "He's fucking bigger than _you_! _Fuck_!"

"No he ain't." William had pressed against John, and then Matthew had, too, all of them showing their pricks to one another, trying to gauge which one was the biggest. Though John wasn't at all sure, Matthew seemed convinced that John was the winner of the evening's impromptu contest. John remembered the heat that had suddenly stung his face, the grin that he couldn't suppress.

"You're just small, Bill," Matthew had said. "But it don't mean anything." John had always thought that Matthew was the more thoughtful of his two cousins, but he'd had a hard time since leaving school, he recalled now. In and out of trouble with drugs, though he had seemed to clear that problem up, some ten years ago, now. Was that it? What had become of him? The last John remembered, he'd seen him at a wedding. Wasn't he alone? William had been far more successful though equipped with a much smaller dick.

A female voice was calling from the house. It might have been his mother, John thought, or one of his aunts. He couldn't remember.

"Fuck, fuck it," William had run off, out the door, but Matthew had stayed behind, looking at John. _Ah, yes, _John recalled, _William was also a bit of a coward, too._

"Do you know how?" Matthew had asked John, as he sat on a pile of bags of something, lime or cement and pulled at his cock, getting ready to release. John had watched him wank until Matthew came, three quick little spurts as he sat, smiling at John. John had been speechless.

"That's one way to do it. But there's another way, too." Matthew had smiled.

John pressed his fingers into his eyes again as he remembered standing in the deepening gloom of the barn, barely able to make out Matthew's face, holding his dick in his hand, erect and uncomfortable, confused and feeling the need to escape when Matthew grabbed his wrist, and pulled him to where he'd been sitting. He remembered him putting his mouth on him, licking his tip more than anything, just the slightest contact when the same female voice called again from the house about a quarter mile away. John was barely aware of this, however, as there had been a sudden and deafening roar in his ears and the ground had seemed to be moving. He remembered Matthew had smiled as he did up his trousers and ran out the door.

"Come on," was all he'd said. John had looked down to see some moisture on his hand. '_Oh_,' he'd remembered thinking. He'd shoved himself back into his trousers, and followed his cousin, running like hell down the hill to the house. It had been the first of a few more encounters with Matthew and then another cousin, before all that ended rather abruptly.

_I don't even know where he's living,_ thought John. _I've got to find him, see if he's ok. _John remembered that there had been a moment in their relationship when John had put a wall between them. When they'd reached their late teens, he remembered being cold to him, shutting him out. Refusing to stay in the same room with him, at one time. John hung his head. _I'll find him. I'll make it right if he'll let me. I was just a kid, after all. I'll find him._

"John, love?" Molly was in the flat. John stood from his chair and watched as Molly smiled, then turned to stow her bag and hang up her light spring coat. He stepped toward her and she was in his arms. Molly ran her fingers across his brow. She noticed how world weary he looked as he'd gotten up from the desk when she came in.

"Thinking hard?"

"Mmm. Thinking of Matthew."

"Ah." Molly had heard the story of Matthew before, not often, but she knew it weighed on John's mind from time to time.

"Did you – did you know, Molly? Did you see that I was – I don't know – _fluid_? That way?"

"Fluid. No, it didn't occur to me when I met you."

"You had other things on your mind when you actually first met me. Ahaha. You didn't even remember my name for quite a while - months?"

"Sorry. Yes. Other things on my mind." Molly blushed and hung her head, remembering the scene when she'd embarrassed herself in front of both John and Sherlock with that man – that - that – _best leave the past behind, _she thought.

"What about – you know when we started seeing one another – when we – started sleeping together – did that ever occur to you? That I - , that I was - "

"Fluid? I'd have to say, no, love." Molly looked into John's patient, kindly face.

"I wouldn't have thought so," said John. "I mean I don't feel that I -."

"It's only him."

"Hmm?"

"It's only _him_, John. It's not anyone else but Sherlock. It's a – unique sort of love story. A unique sort of love. So it's not -."

"Not really fluidity?"

"No, I think fluidity is a good way to think of it. But it's only in this one particular case. With him."

John and Molly had wandered into the kitchen, and Molly was doing some washing up, and setting out bowls, presumably for a take-away dinner. John leaned against a counter, watching her, thinking.

"Ah. So. Just him. That's – that's -."

"What, love?" Molly asked, but saw that the 'just him' scenario was working for John. She didn't want to say or do anything to interfere with his contemplation of it.

"The whole Matthew scenario is a completely normal -." Molly had said this before.

"I know it is, I'm fine with it – I was really thinking more about Matthew, just then, how I kind of ditched him when we were still kids."

"Yeah. Well," said Molly, "Also fairly normal, no?"

"No word of a lie. The other cousins were worse than I was." John remembered Matthew's general excoriation from his family when he came out to the family. Things had gotten better since then, but John shuddered, glad that he hadn't been around for that, or indeed part of it.

"You can look him up, still, love."

"I will – I will do it. I'll give his mum a call, get his number." Said John, and Molly sighed with relief. He'd never said he would do it before, but now that he said it, she knew he would keep to his word. _Give him some closure on all that, _she thought.

"Fluid," John murmured to himself. "Just him. Oh, when – when is he due?"

"Not for a about an hour, he texted me only a bit ago, said he would bring the food, though."

"Really?"

"Said he'd found a new place. Is there a bottle -?"

"Interested in food? Yes, there's one in here, somewhere – we didn't drink it, I – here it is." John produced a bottle of red from a cabinet.

"Yes, food and other physical things. I hope we don't ruin him for, for the -."

"For the Work, love. For science."

"Yes. Well, I think we have about 40 minutes." Molly waggled her eyebrows at her husband and smiled an impish grin.

"Oh really? Without him?"

Molly frowned and went to John, putting her arms around his neck, kissing him.

"Love you. You're paying so much attention to one another, sometimes I miss you."

"Well, that won't do at all," John said, kissing her back, and they were soon quite involved in one another.

"I've been thinking about you all day," Molly whispered., and John whispered back, though no one was there to here them.

"What would you like, love? Hmm? Tell me. Fast across the desk? Slow in the bedroom? Bizarre on the sofa?"

"What's bizarre about the sofa?"

"I don't know, I just thought it would be funny to say."

Molly took his hand and led him to Sherlock's room.

"Ahaha. Slow," she said. And when they were in the room, she continued as John undressed her piece by piece. "I want you to - put your mouth on me – then I want to ride you – but just for a little while – then I want you to take me - however you want me. Do you like that - plan?"

"Hmm, yeah – it's good – good plan."

John was already more than a little excited, pressing against her even as he tried to get her clothes off. She loved his gentleness despite his wonderfully muscular arms and chest, still carved fairly well from his time in the military. She loved the time he took with her clothes, even though he was more than ready for her. John managed to get her blouse and bra off, then slipped off her pants, and pressed her back onto the mattress, her skirt scrunched up around her waist. He knelt between her legs, leaning in to bite her inner thighs, kiss her, lick her.

"Oh, sweetheart, yes," Molly arched her back as she felt his tongue on her skin. She spread her legs wide, and adored John's strong hands on the insides of her knees, pressing her even farther apart. John was soon stroking her outer lips with his finger tips, and lightly kissing her. She moaned and writhed beneath his touch, trying to press herself against his mouth, but he teased her a little, backing away as she arched toward him. Finally he opened his mouth and pressed his lips to hers, tonguing her, biting her.

"Oh _god_, love, yes." Molly laced her fingers through his hair, urging him closer. His tongue and mouth moved faster and faster, now at a regular rhythm, but soon more arrhythmic and more tantalizing.

"Oh, sweetheart – I love your mouth on me -." She came quickly and fairly quietly, but hastily rolled up to her knees and was undoing John's belt and trousers.

"_Ah_, love, let me – _Jesus_ – take it easy, Molly, oh, _fuck_." Molly sank down on John's cock, which she'd barely freed from his clothing and quickly started moving, leaning down to take his mouth with hers, completely dominating the movement and John let her do it, enjoying her abandon, her bit of violence.

He knew this next stretch of their lovemaking was a bit of theatre for her, she liked being exposed to him, loved showing him her body, stretching and bucking and thrusting against him. She whipped her head around, making a show of her hair, glancing John's face and chest with it. She was smiling at him, waiting for him, now, he knew and he took his cue, grabbing her waist and pulling her to him, rolling them over, pinning her on her back, holding her wrists over her head. He took both her wrists in one hand, hard, and slung one of her knees over his shoulder, pumping slowly, but deeply into her.

"Ok?" He asked, but she only smiled at him, her lascivious smile. He knew she wanted him to take her roughly, now, but he didn't generally like doing that, he couldn't release himself that easily, sometimes, like now. Instead, he pumped her slowly, deeply and with care. She liked this, too, he knew. Today, John saw, was going to be a rather passionate slow build, as he quickened the pace carefully, still making sure to hit her deeply at each stroke. He watched her closely, was he getting the right spot? Was he making her happy? She was generally pretty happy when he took control, but he wanted to please her so badly at these moments, he worked very hard at it.

John started to lose control a bit and was starting to swear. He was vaguely aware that Molly had a look of panic in her eyes, and that she started thrusting against him, harder and harder, not wanting him to come before her. John dropped her leg from his shoulder, and reached down, holding the base of his cock in his hand, deferring his pleasure for now. He kissed her, perhaps a little roughly and he heard her purr in approval, he pulled away and looked at her.

"Beautiful love, so beautiful. Doing ok?"

"Mmm," Molly replied. John knew Molly to go very non-verbal in bed sometimes. It both delighted and frustrated him. He looked into her eyes, and tried to understand this lovely feral creature in his arms, in his care. _Why me? Why on earth didn't she wait for him? Well, we didn't know where he was he – wait – why would that have anything to do with – wait -. We didn't –_ John lost the thread of the thought he was having, but tried to catalogue it. He knew it was some kind of discovery for him. _Remember, remember,_ he thought, _oh fuck!_ Molly was moving against him harder, now and John knew she'd probably prefer Sherlock at this moment, a hard animalistic fuck to finish things off, and it only just rankled him enough. He took her chin in his hand, and kissed her hard again, then harder – she responded with bites and yelps and a wildness in her eyes.

He began to fuck her. She arched her back into him and let him have her, offering herself to him, moaning as he lost his reserve, as his gentleness fell away.

"_Yes, baby_," He heard her say as the last bit of sense passed out of his brain and all there was in the world was movement and Molly's eyes, desperate, pleading. He came before her, however and collapsed. She continued to move against him, and he was soon able to reposition himself between her legs, fucking her with his mouth and fingers until she was finished, arching her back, and moaning animal sounds at her climax. They lay in a heap for a few moments, John's head on Molly abdomen, their hands entwined. Then the pair were aware of a slight rustling in the room.

"Mmm, lovely John. Molly. I could watch you all day – thank you ." A deep velvety voice in the room familiar. John jerked his head toward the chair.

"How long have you been sitting there?" Molly asked. "Why didn't you come to us?"

"You seemed to have matters well in hand. And I wanted to see – well -."

"If we still cry in bed? I don't think we do any more? Well, not this time, anyway," said John.

"No," Molly agreed, "Perhaps that's past. You make us so happy, come to us, won't you?"

"Well, if you insist." Sherlock grinned, and toed off his shoes, stripping off his jacket. He slid into bed behind Molly, nuzzling her neck, licking the skin behind her ear. He stroked her backside, and slipped his fingers into her from behind.

"Mmm, lovely and wet. You and John, both."

"Yes," Molly and John said simultaneously. Sherlock hesitated, not wanting to be too much of a boor. He waited, kissing Molly's neck, gently probing her between the legs, waiting for her to invite him.

"Please, Sherlock? Won't you – won't you take me - from behind? I mean, if you'd like to?"

"Yes, of course, I will, if you'd like me to," Sherlock played at formality and asked further, "Is it all right, John?"

"Ahaha. It's just fine." John shook his head at the silliness of this little game, but went along for the ride.

Molly drew her knees up out of the way, and Sherlock knelt behind her. He kept his clothes on, only opening his trousers enough to release his erection. He pressed close to her, and slipped into her easily as she lay on her side and he concentrated on rubbing her skin with his clothes, the way he knew she liked. Molly reached for John, and they kissed as Sherlock took her gently at first, and then harder and harder, releasing rather loudly at the end, gripping Molly's shoulder at the neck, as well as John's leg.

"Molly. John," said Sherlock, as he slipped down behind Molly again stroking her. He reached for John, and John took his hand.

"Molly," Sherlock said after a few moments. "Didn't I take care of you?" Sherlock asked.

"Shh, don't worry about that. We have lots of time." Molly hushed.

"Hmm, sorry, that's quite unmannerly of me."

"Shh, love." Molly hushed again as she stroked John's face, and kissed him again.

The three lay, quietly breathing together and the only other sound was the sound of Sherlock's clock in the room. It was an old clock, with a very traditional 'tick tock,' and John had wondered if it had been Sherlock's own clock from childhood. It was a simple, calming counting of moments that soothed, John thought.

_How can this be so good?_ Sherlock thought. He had no way of knowing, but only surmised that John and Molly were feeling the same way. And he would have been right, as all three were washed in a contentment that seemed to be healing and lovely, but also a little impossible.

_Life is so short, _thought Molly, _enjoy each tick and each tock_, she found herself thinking, as she cherished each syllable the clock spoke. They lay together for several minutes more. And Sherlock finally broke the quiet.

"Well, I've brought a curry dinner. New place. Anyone?" He kissed Molly's head, and surged out of bed, doing up his trousers. John and Molly slowly roused themselves, too and were soon putting on pyjamas and dressing gowns. Then the three trundled off to the kitchen to see about dinner.

* * *

_There you have it._

_Hey, sorry about the last chapter: I edited it far too little. Lots of dead wood._

_Way too long. Not my finest hour! _

_Sheez – very sorry about that – I will try to do better!_

_Is Molly shaping up a little better for you, guys? Let me know what you think!_

_(Never wrote anything before, besides my diary! Give us a break, yeah?)_

_A couple more chapters, then: the end!_

_Don't worry, Top!Sherlock is definitely on the docket! _

_Jollock is not everyone's ship - sorry if I offend! _

_Hey, but if you like it, even a little bit, I'd love to hear from you! _

_In fact, PLEASE let me hear from you! Even if it's just to say 'hi!'_


	37. Nana's Chair 051013

_In which Sherlock and John discover and reveal things about the chair_

_In which Sherlock's 'am I too heavy' concerns are revealed_

_In which Sherlock feels a little unsure in his relationship with the other two_

_In which Molly and John do their utmost to reassure their friend_

* * *

**Nana's Chair**

Sherlock entered the flat to find John standing in the middle of the room, regarding his chair.

"John? Problem?"

"No, no." John said, but then pointed to the chair, wagging a finger at it. "But, I did want to ask you – Where did you get this chair?

_Oh getting too clever for your own good John Watson whatever will I do with you oh well ask your fill if you must ask away see what good it will do you how delightful he's worked it out or rather figured out the proper line of questioning. _

"Hmm? What?" Sherlock said, as he gestured to carrier bags, and took himself into the kitchen.

"Ahaha." John followed his friend into the kitchen, not willing to give up on his question. "Where did you get that chair, Hmm? _My_ chair – I mean, the one I sit in. It's, it's that is – it doesn't match – I mean – _your_ chair and your _sofa_ match and they're, well, they're more _you._

"Oh, the chair _matches, _John."

"Yes, yes, very funny, I _know_ it – Ahaha – it matches _me_ – more traditional, less - fuck, less _modern_ than your – your _look_. But where did it come from? It was with your stuff when you first moved in."

Sherlock considered lying to John, considered telling him that the chair was a left over from the last tenant and was in the flat when he'd moved in the rest of his things. _No, no, that's no way to treat your loved ones _ Sherlock decided to come clean.

"Well, John, do you really want to know?"

"I did ask."

"All right, I'll tell you." Sherlock turned from making tea to face John. "It was Nana's chair."

"Nana's chair?"

"Yes."

"Who's Nana?"

"Was, John. Nana was my maternal grandmere. Uh – grandmother."

"I see." John considered for a moment. So - _my_ chair was your – was _Nana's_ chair?"

"Hmmhmm. Yes, John." Sherlock smiled and set the constellations of the qualities of John and the qualities of Nana into orbit in the planetarium of his mind and observed them. He was not at all surprised to find many items in common. _How did I not recognize this before?_ He thought. Sherlock continued pottering about in the kitchen, smiling to himself, getting ready for supper. He set out three bowls, napkins, and wine glasses, located a bottle of red, and set that out as well.

"Ok," said John with a bit of a breath.

"Is it – a problem – at all?" Sherlock asked.

"No, no. It's – it's a very nice chair. Very – comfy. I like it very much." John smiled.

The two waited while the water boiled for the tea, John thinking to himself, and Sherlock regarding his friend. _I'll help him out. But just a bit, _thought Sherlock.

"If it's of any interest to you – I – um – had a very – _close_ relationship with Nana. The closest of any of my - well – family, certainly. Possibly the whole – ah -. She was – she was very - steady for me."

John was gratified to hear that Sherlock's childhood wasn't a wasteland of indifferent adults. He had sometimes imagined a younger Mycroft, more than 10 years Sherlock's senior, speaking cruelly to him, ordering him about, talking to him as if he were his own age, rather than as a child. It quite burned him up.

"How old were you - when she passed?"

"Fifteen."

"Ah. Sorry."

"Well." Sherlock shrugged as the two men regarded one another, waiting for the kettle. He saw that John had an impulse to reach out to him and touch him, but quelled it. Sherlock smiled.

"John?" Sherlock inclined his head in what he hoped would be an encouraging way.

"Hmm? What?"

"You _can_ you know - touch me, that is. I do – actually _like_ it, you know."

"Ahaha. Yes, I was going to - ." John stepped over to Sherlock and touched his arm lightly. Sherlock smiled but didn't respond, wanting to see what else John might do, smiling his encouragement and John took him in his arms, an arm around his waist, and one on his neck, fingering his throat. Sherlock pressed his cheek against John's head, smiling, holding him lightly.

"I do love that you want to know, but – ah – why don't you have a seat – hmmhmm, in Nana'schair, and I'll bring you a mug?"

"Nah," said John, taking one of Sherlock's hands in his own, lacing their fingers together. "Leave it. It only gets cold. Come on." He gently led Sherlock out of the kitchen, after snapping off the kettle.

John took his seat in the chair and Sherlock looked at him, suddenly a little diffident. He waited to be invited, as he had with Nana, he remembered. Mycroft always scolding him not to hop into Nana's lap, unbidden. _Ah, yes, _thought Sherlock, _someone else was always supervising us, scolding me, advising me. Good god._

"Come on," John prompted gently, holding out a hand to his friend. Sherlock stepped up to John's chair as he had before, and put his hands on the arms of the chair, his face close to John's as he lowered himself onto John's lap. He grazed John's cheek with his lips as he descended, lowering himself into place, onto John's lovely thick, muscular thighs. Sherlock immediately had to repress his desire to ask if he were too heavy, and he managed it, smiling wanly into John's face who was watching him

carefully. Any other person, any other situation, and Sherlock would have resented the scrutiny, but not here. Not now. Instead, and for the first time, he appreciated it. Sherlock pressed his face against John's neck, relaxing, sighing his contentment. The two were quiet for a moment.

"You don't mind about the chair - being Nana's?"

"No, of course not."

The room was quiet again for a few perfectly comfortable moments.

"I think that's what it is, John."

"What?"

"I've responded to you – you know – in this chair – with the - emotions of a time long past."

"Yes, I can see that a bit."

"An emotional connection to the chair. Hmmhmm. I'm becoming ridiculous."

"No, no -."

"Oh, don't worry, I don't give a _damn_, John."

"Ahaha. Good. But what about this 'am I too heavy?' business?"

Sherlock recalled Mycroft's cruel words before entering Nana's bedroom. '_And don't jump into Nana's lap until she asks you, you fat little toad.'_

"Nana was getting frailer when I was still quite young. Other – family members were wary of hurting her – and you know, other childhood issues – I suppose it can all get jumbled together."

John had an image of Mycroft and other adults berating Sherlock for jumping on his aged grandmother.

"Were you – heavy as a child?"

"Shh."

"Ah. I see. I can't imagine."

"Don't tell anyone." Sherlock giggled every so slightly into John's neck.

"Ahaha. Molly?"

"Yes, yes, of course Molly, of course. But no one else."

"Our secret. But, you seem to have – gotten a hold of the problem."

"Oh, indeed," Sherlock sat up a bit straighter, his tone more adult. "The coke habit, and the club lifestyle each - contributed to a look that – well – very close to the one you know, now. Hmmhmm. Aren't I lucky?"

Sherlock was kissing John's ear and neck, purring a little as he went and John responded, his hands in Sherlock's hair.

"But, Sherlock - ."

"Hmm?"

"You were – the last time we were – sitting here – you were so upset about something."

"As I said, John, childhood issues getting jumbled together?" Sherlock's finger tips were running along John's mouth and he stopped to look into his friend's face, his eyes.

"Oh, John, love, I think that's pity I see in your eyes."

John looked away, ashamed.

"Oh, I -."

"It's all right, I didn't mean to scold you. Yes, there were issues. But I'm sure mine were the least for the world to consider."

John tightened his grip on Sherlock in his lap, in his arms, pulling him close, holding him hard and Sherlock let out a little breathy sound.

"Were you – were you ever _punished_ in this chair, though?"

_Too clever too clever by half if I keep telling him things he'll have it all and we'll hear no end of it no I can't let him know anything bad ever happened in this chair best to keep that to myself it's best for John not going to do any good going into that now, so many years on. _

"No, no," Sherlock lied smoothly. "Nana only ever held me in this chair, it was in her bedroom – and it was only ever good. John, love, I'm ok now, hmm? She was lovely with me, as I recall. Seemed to know what – you know – what was going on – with me – more than any of those fumbling, moronic _doctors_. Oh, sorry. I meant _psychiatrists_, of course."

"Hmm, fair enough," said John. "So, she – held you?"

"Yes, John."

"You're lying. You're lying to protect me. From the truth of – what happened."

Sherlock froze. _Too clever by half how on earth did he deduce that he has no information to go on_

"How – how did you know?"

"I can feel it in your body, love. I sleep with you, remember? I know things about you now. Things you can't hide."

Sherlock bowed his head, thoroughly chastened.

"I – I -."

"Shh – I won't ask about it, since you clearly don't want to tell me. I'll try not to worry too much about it, since that's why you lied to me. Ahaha. Don't though, ok? If you can help it? Just tell me you don't want to tell me. Much better that way."

"Yes. Yes of _course_ it is, John, I'm – I'm -."

"Shh, never mind. She didn't – That is, _Nana_ never punished you, though?"

"No, no, never."

"Ok. How – often did you see her?"

"She lived with us until her death. I saw her all the time – well – until I went to school – she died while I was away."

"Sorry – I mean –."

"Um, John?"

"Hmm?"

"Enough for now, yes?"

"Yes, of course." John ran his fingertips down the length of Sherlock's throat.

"Sorry, I just, I just want -."

"It's fine, I – I'm just done for now. If you don't mind."

"Ok." John began unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt, kissing his neck and jaw line with some urgency when Sherlock spoke again.

"John."

"Mmm?"

"When Molly comes – tonight – in bed -?"

"Mmm?"

"Will you – do you think you'd want to - ."

"Do you want me – to be – inside you?"

"Mmm. If you - ."

"Shh, ok."

"Ok." Sherlock paused and added a little shyly, "All clean."

"Ah. Ahaha. Ok."

John put his hands in Sherlock's hair and rubbed his scalp. He kissed his head and murmured his name and Sherlock was fairly sedated after a time with his face pressed to John's neck. John could see that sitting in this chair was not going to turn into chair sex as he had previously thought. It was only ever going to be a gentle quiet cuddling moment between the two of them, something rather one-sided in which John was a carer, and Sherlock was cared for. John smiled as he thought this, murmuring Sherlock's name as he rubbed his scalp gently. Sherlock was quite mesmerized after a time, quiet and relaxed with his head in the crook of John's neck. This was the scene to which Molly came home.

"My lovely boys," She said quietly at the door. "Everything all right?"

"Yes, love," said Sherlock getting up, helping her with the food. He gave her a gentle peck on the cheek and went into the kitchen.

* * *

John joined them in the kitchen where they quietly doled out food into bowls and shared a simple meal, Molly and John seated at the table, Sherlock leaning on the counter, trying to control his boundless energy.

_Both, _he thought to himself_ I'm going to have them both tonight John on top and Molly beneath or the like oh god_

He barely contained his excitement as he ate a very minimal meal. He ate and watched Molly and John chatter affectionately, leaning in to kiss one another very occasionally. _They're so natural in one another's company, _he thought, once again regretting his officially unmarried status. He was confident he could swoop in at any moment and talk to, kiss, touch either of them and neither of them would put him off. Rather, they would welcome him, encourage him, he knew. But officially, Molly was right – it did make him sad sometimes. _No, she doesn't miss much, does she?_ There was a lull in the couple's conversation.

"You're so - ." Sherlock blurted. "So natural together – I – sorry – you're lovely – that's – that's all I -."

"Sherlock," said Molly, putting her empty bowl in the sink. She knew the trouble and went to him, putting her arms around him.

"Ahaha. Now _you're_ lovely together, hmm? I've always thought so. That first night, Sherlock."

"Are we? Are we Molly?" he asked, placing a kiss in her hair. _John has had to watch someone else from the beginning holding touching making love to his wife he's never given any indication of feeling left out not a word if anything it had seemed to soothe him _Sherlock thought. _ My presence has always been welcome in their bed they only ever want me close there are never any secrets not so far not so far how much long for godssake? How can it go on?_

"What is it, love?" Molly rubbed his chest with her hands.

"Just seems – sometimes - ."

"Mmm?"

"Seems so – impossible – John – Molly."

"No, love," John assured him from where he sat.

"No, love," Molly echoed.

"It's happening now." John stood up from his seat and put an arm around Sherlock's waist and one around Molly's shoulders.

"See?" John smiled into Sherlock's face that open easy smile that had so often assured his friend. Then, John leaned his head back slightly, offering his neck and Sherlock lowered his head whispering 'I love you,' silently against the skin of John's throat.

"Sherlock in the middle tonight," Molly said, squeezing her arms around him, her cheek against his chest.

"Yes, special treatment tonight," John said.

Sherlock noticed John and Molly's silent communication. It only ever made him smile when he saw them do it – in a look or the squeeze of a hand or shoulder – He could tell easily enough they were communicating something about him. Less obvious to him was whether it was something specific or just a need for general confirmation, a sort of non-verbal, 'see, that's what I was talking about.' Tonight, though, there was something more, he thought. Perhaps they have something planned. He looked at John then Molly. But they only smiled at him.

In the bedroom, Molly and John undressed Sherlock slowly, piece by piece and when he tried to unbutton Molly's blouse, they took his hands away gently.

"Let us, Sherlock you can let go, love."

Sherlock closed his eyes and let them strip him tenderly, kissing him brushing his skin with their fingers as they went. When he stood naked before them, John pulled aside the duvet on the bed.

"Get in the middle, love," he said, and smiled.

Sherlock slid into bed rolling into the middle, lying on his back and grinned as John and Molly, still fully clothed, slid in next thim, kissing him, stroking him. He closed his eyes for a moment or two to savour the feeling of so many hands and mouths on his naked skin. He was vaguely aware of noises of contentment he was making, alternating from a sort of purr to breathing the names of his lovers.

He felt John climb part way on top of him, and he opened his eyes. John was draped across his chest, his face smiling into his own, quite close, close enough to lean in and kiss him when he wanted to. He could feel Molly's small kisses across his abdomen, her hands on his hips, though he couldn't see her as John blocked his view.

"Ok?"

"Mmm. John, love." Sherlock ruffled John's hair and John took his other hand and laced their fingers together. He leaned in and kissed Sherlock, quickly dominating the kiss and Sherlock was happy to let the control slip further away from him. When John released him, licking his lips and pulling away, gently, he stroked Sherlock's cheek.

"Lovely," said John.

"_Ah_, Molly." Sherlock felt Molly's mouth on the tip of his now completely erect cock, teasing the contour of the head with the dainty point of her tongue. That's when Sherlock heard the click and felt the cold sharp sensation of metal on his wrist. His eyes snapped open, and he smiled at John, chuckling.

"Hmmhmm. Oh, John, love."

"What? No? I didn't get you?"

"Hmmhmm, John." Sherlock ran his fingers up and down John's neck, wanting so much to possess him, but still content only to be possessed. _But how much longer before I lose control completely? _Sherlock thought. _How completely adorable. He thought he caught me. Molly knows. _

Molly popped up to nibble at Sherlock's ear.

"It's so important to him that he was able to surprise you, Sherlock."

"Hmmhmm. I'm sorry, John."

"No? When did you know?" John wanted to know.

"Well, when you leaned down to reach for the – wait a moment! This, this isn't even connected to anything. For gods sake, John!"

Sherlock lifted his captured wrist and laughed at the sight of the pair of handcuffs dangling from one of his wrists.

"You didn't even secure them to anything! This is ridiculous!"

"I might have done. I just wanted to see if I could -."

"We don't want to have you in proper cuffs, love," Molly continued, more to the point. "We don't want you to hurt your pretty hands and wrists."

"Oh, I see," Sherlock's lips pouted as John unlocked the cuff from Sherlock's wrists, with a key he'd taken from the bedside table.

"You see, you _see_, Molly," said John, "He's actually disappointed – he _wants_ the real cuffs, I told you."

"That's not happening, John. Sherlock, you'll hurt yourself. You'll have marks. You could break the skin. _These_ will be much better."

Molly produced a pair of properly padded leather restraining cuffs from her side of the bed and captured one of Sherlock's wrists in one of them, buckling the closure.

"These are real, Sherlock, no escape."

"Hmm," Sherlock wasn't so sure as he smilingly inspected the cuff Molly had secured on his wrist. John took the other cuff, and fastened Sherlock's other wrist and then, bringing his friend's two hands together, he clipped them together with the hardware on the cuffs. John swiftly lifted Sherlock's bound wrists, pinning them over his head, pressing his chest to Sherlock's, gripping the back of his neck.

"Ok?" He asked, then kissed him again, roughly. Sherlock closed his eyes, the process of letting go was going deeper and he was really enjoying himself, now. "God I love seeing you like this," John whispered urgently in his ear then Sherlock heard another metallic click, and realized he'd been secured somehow to the bed. _Ah, lovely. _Sherlock opened his eyes to see John kneeling up in bed.

"What about that time?" John wanted to know.

"I – I don't know, love." Sherlock said. "I think if someone _wants_ to be captured – are you actually – I mean -."

"Come on. Did I surprise you?"

"Shh, John, love, leave him alone with that, now. Can't you see he's starting to bliss out, already?"

"Yes, yes," John agreed, and felt his own blood drain from his head, his trousers getting tighter as he beheld Sherlock in his bonds. His cheeks were pink now, his breathing was short and rapid and though there was a smile on his lips, his eyes were dark and needy.

"Oh, god," John fell on him, concentrating on Sherlock's neck, leaving all kinds of future marks without any care about how visible they would be later. He felt Molly behind him, continuing her attentions to Sherlock's cock, then he remembered.

"Oh," he said, and lifted himself away from Sherlock, reaching for something on the bedside table.

"John?" Sherlock was half way to that other place, hoping that John wouldn't be gone for long.

Molly again lifted herself to John and Sherlock's level as John produced a leather collar from a small shopping bag.

"Purely for aesthetic enjoyment, I think – I could never secure your neck to - ."

"John, shh, just put it on him, he's dying for it, look at him - ."

"Yes, all right, Molly, I just wanted to tell him - ."

John put the collar around Sherlock's throat and Sherlock stretched the column of his neck very prettily for John, leaning his head a bit to let him secure the buckle.

"Oh, god," said John at the sight of Sherlock thus bound.

"You're so beautiful." Molly was rapt. John had to take a moment before he could speak, however.

"Sherlock, love – ok? Not too tight?"

"S'fine," Sherlock was beginning to feel drugged, giddy, light and floating. "John, please, _please_."

"All right, in a moment, believe me – Molly?" John looked to Molly who hopped off the bed, producing another pair of cuffs, and John and Molly quickly bound Sherlock's ankles, to the bed, spreading his legs quite wide.

"Ok? No restriction of circulation?"

"John, _John_, please, please." Sherlock was smiling, but stretching against his bonds, now, arching his back, his cock rock hard and bobbing his hips thrusting involuntarily.

"Safeword is biosphere, say it please."

"Biosphere, for fuck's sake, John."

John was shucking his clothes off quickly now, as he spoke.

"Sherlock, love, oh, god, you're so fucking lovely - Molly is going to get you ready, now, then I'm going to fuck you – ah, - rather recklessly, it must be said, and then Molly's going to have you. But we won't be angry or hurt if you safeword, all right It's more important, much more important to us that you feel all right, ok?"

"John, _John_," Sherlock whined pitifully, now, writhing against the bonds, arching his back, enjoying himself immensely. Then John fell on his mouth again and Sherlock groaned loudly against John's tongue. He felt Molly's lovely fingers, wet with something, press into him, opening him. John's tongue seemed to be half way down his throat when Sherlock felt something cool and foreign between his legs, and press into him, he hissed.

"Ah, Molly, oh god." Sherlock tried to bend his knees, but couldn't because of the bonds.

"All right, love?"

"Yes, yes, _god_!"

"Yes, she's got some presents for you, love," said John. "She went shopping today and got a little carried away. _God, love, I love you, I love you_," John whispered into Sherlock's ear, just before he knelt up on the bed. He swiftly put on a condom, and then he took the dildo from Molly's hand, and Sherlock opened his eyes to see John fucking him with it, watching him, watching his reactions as he pressed deep into Sherlock.

"Molly, love, release his ankles for me?"

"Oh, really? What a shame."

"No, he must have his legs free, I think, don't you?"

"All right," Molly hopped off the bed and did as John asked, releasing Sherlock's ankles. Sherlock immediately bent his knees up, and arched his back to gain more contact with the dildo as John continued to press the pink plastic phallus in and out of him. John slid up to kiss his neck, chin and mouth, finally asking,

"Ready, love? Are you ready for me?"

"Yes, for godssake, _please_, John."

"Please, what, love?"

Sherlock was at a loss _What does he want me to say? Does he need me to say 'sir?' No that's not it, that's not my John at all, that's not him oh!_

"Please _fuck_ me, John, please, please _please_, fuck me hard, fuck me _now_, please don't make me wait any more."

John gently removed the dildo from Sherlock, and slid onto top of him in the same movement, he pressed his tip into Sherlock's tight hole, stopping when the ring of muscle constricted around him. John looked to his friend's face, where need and hunger were all that could be seen.

"_Please, please."_

John pressed into Sherlock sinking into him, pressing all the way in, in one smooth, glacially slow delicious movement, during which Sherlock hissed and moaned, his face contorted in a picture of pain and pleasure. When John was completely buried to the hilt, he pressed his mouth to Sherlock's ear again.

"Safeword is biosphere, love. I don't want to - ."

"Move, John, _move_, for the love of god, don't make me beg."

From the first thrust something clicked in John, and he was almost immediately out of control, pumping into Sherlock with abandon, animal noises that he didn't recognize as his own escaping his body. He tried, but couldn't stop, couldn't control himself and seemed to only be able to do this one thing, thrust hard and fast forward and back, and that was all. His world was reduced to movement and Sherlock's face. John leaned down to bite Sherlock's neck and was rewarded with a loud moan as Sherlock continued to strain against his bonds with a lewd kind of joy, bucking and arching into John's forceful thrusts. But the build up had been such that Sherlock would have to have been made of steel to forestall his pleasure any further.

"John, ah, Molly, I – _close_."

Molly was at their side suddenly, and reached between their bodies, Sherlock bucking and writhing, and John thrusting and thrusting and Sherlock felt her fasten something at the base of his cock.

"Oh _god_!" Sherlock cried and fell back against the mattress, taking in these new sensations. In addition to the incredible burn for which John was responsible, the complete release of control his bonds afforded him, he now experienced a sort of panic and pain he'd never had before. It was agony, the cock ring, but as John drew closer to his finish, pounding and thrusting into him, the discomfort associated itself with pleasure, with joy. _Delightful_ _ oh fuck! _

John's litany of curses and Sherlock's and Molly's names was always such a pleasure for Sherlock, but now he was disappointed that this incredible moment of capture and possession had been so short lived. He watched as John's body stiffened, his head was thrown back, and he succumbed to the spasms of his climax. John slowly, almost gracefully collapsed onto Sherlock, kissing his neck, murmuring his name and Molly's.

"All right?"

"Ah, John – yes." Sherlock's voice was breathy, strained. Then John remembered that Sherlock hadn't been able to come, and was probably in some discomfort.

"Oh, god, sorry," John slipped out of Sherlock, noting with pleasure Sherlock's whimper at the separation. He disposed of his condom, and assured his friend.

"It's ok, here's Molly, love, not long now, all right," John drove his tongue into Sherlock's ear. Then he gently and then roughly kissed his mouth again. John could feel the extra tension in Sherlock's body as his friend dealt with the pain and discomfort of the cock ring. It was very compelling, and John wished very much that he could take him again right away. Then, Molly's hand was on John's shoulder and he could feel her straddling Sherlock, mounting him, and he rolled away from the pair to watch them.

"Stay close, John," Sherlock managed.

"Don't wander off, love," Molly said, now fully seated on Sherlock's cock.

"Don't worry, I'm here." John nipped Sherlock's ear, then he knelt up in bed and kissed and caressed Molly as she gently rolled her hips against Sherlock's in small circles, gentle thrusts.

"Ok, love?" John asked her, "I didn't take too long?"

"John," Molly responded between John's wet kisses and caresses. "Love you."

"He's so beautiful," said John, "Each time, he surprises me, makes me – I don't know -."

"I know, I know," said Molly.

Sherlock smiled to hear John and Molly speak this way about him in the midst of actually having him. _Entirely delightful._

John stretched out next to Sherlock, stroking his arm and kissing his neck and mouth from time to time as Molly began to move more urgently against him. She splayed her hands across his chest and leaned down, whispering as she nipped at his mouth and neck.

"Mr. Holmes."

"Hmmhmm. Mrs. Watson."

"You're looking and sounding and hmhm, tasting very lovely this evening."

"Mmm," Sherlock was too far gone to make much sense out of anything said to him verbally.

"Doing ok? Is there any -."

"I'm fine, love, it's - , just fuck me hard, Mrs. Watson, please, do whatever you want."

Molly hooked two fingers into the metal loop in Sherlock's collar and pulled him toward her a bit. It was an awkward angle for Sherlock, but his expression and mien betrayed no panic, only hunger, need. Molly gently released his neck as she began to move in earnest, using her nails lightly against his skin, his nipples. Her muscles contracted and her back arched with pleasure to see Sherlock face contort, at war with himself over whether he felt more pleasure or more pain.

When she reached a plateau she started to panic as she sometimes did, and John saw her expression.

"What is it, love?" He asked from his vantage point, lying with his face near Sherlock's. He loved it when she started to lose control like this and teased her a little in her crucial moment. "Hmmhmm, not sure what comes next? You do, love. Do you need help? A little extra help?" John leaned over and bit Sherlock's neck, then looked to Molly, was it visual stimulus she needed or something a little more concrete?

"What can I do, love? Hmm?" John saw that his wife had gone completely non-verbal, but was still looking panicked about her forthcoming crisis as she lurched and ground against Sherlock's hips. John reached across Sherlock's arching and bucking torso and managed to tongue Molly's sex even as she rode Sherlock's cock. It was an awkward, messy affair, but John managed it, kissing and biting at Molly's sex while managing to lick the based of Sherlock's cock as well. John heard Sherlock growl his pleasure and frustration.

"Please, _please_," he heard his friend beg. John would have to take the ring off soon, he knew, but if he did it too soon, he might leave Molly hanging. He sucked one of his fingers, and reached around, pressing it into Molly's tighter opening, thrusting in time with her own movement, and she went over the edge with a series of screeches. John caught her in his arms, and the released her gently as she collapsed onto Sherlock. She quickly rolled off him rather unceremoniously, her body pink, her legs wide open.

John looked at Sherlock, now, as he stared at John begging him with his eyes, mouthing the word 'please,' over and over. John saw the traces of tears on his face as well. Sherlock was also still moving, as if Molly were still mounted on his cock, thrusting his hips forward and back, straining against his bonds.

"Oh, god, you're such a lovely mess, love," John heard himself say. "But you're so beautiful, I just can't let you go. I'll let you come, though, no more waiting, all right?"

John smiled at the look of relief on Sherlock's face as John knelt between his legs, spreading them. He and leaned down to take Sherlock's infuriated and discoloured member in his mouth as far as he could manage, driving two fingers deep into Sherlock, brushing the prostate, gently.

"_Jesus_, John, oh _god_."

Then he released Sherlock's cock ring and felt him come immediately, his hips thrusting against him, forcing his cock deep to the back of John's throat, moaning loudly, calling John's and Molly's names. When he'd pumped out all that he had into John's mouth Sherlock muscles gave way and he fell back against the pillows. John watched his friend for some moments, his hands resting lightly on Sherlock's knees, tracing small circles against his skin with the pads of his thumbs. Sherlock finally turned his head to look at John, and smiled.

"You take it all away. John. Molly."

"Mmm. So there shouldn't be any confusion, we _will_ tie you to the bed to keep you, love," said John, smiling.

"Hmmhmm. Yes." Sherlock said, "Good." John saw that his friend was still in a different kind of reality, and he didn't want to spoil it for him by letting him out of his bonds. John hopped off the bed and secured Sherlock's ankle cuffs to the bed again and surveyed his handy work. Sherlock's arms were still secure above his head and his legs were spread eagled across the bed. John returned to his place between Sherlock's legs, looking down at him. Sure enough, he'd thrown his head back a bit and with his eyes closed and a smile on his face he made a magnificent picture of willing surrender.

"Lovely," John murmured, and leaned in, kissing his friend's inner thighs, biting him, marking him , then kissing the marks. He noticed that Sherlock didn't even make a squeak to be marked so with teeth. John looked at him again, at his dark needy eyes, his abandoned smile.

"Lovely," John said again, gently palming Sherlock's now flaccid cock, then leaning in to place a light kiss at the base of it.

"_John_," Sherlock whispered.

Then John looked to Molly.

"All right, Molly, love?" John smiled at Molly curled up at Sherlock's side. Her arms were around his waist and she'd curled her knees up almost into a foetal position, her feet against Sherlock's shin. She looked small and vulnerable next to Sherlock's well defined musculature, so beautifully on display.

"Mmm, yes, John, love. That was quite magnificent to watch, by the way."

"Hmm. You should see him, love, from here, he's so – he's – I mean his total surrender, his abandon."

Molly rose and John relinquished his spot between Sherlock's legs to her. She knelt between his legs, as John had, placing her hands on his knees.

"Yes." She said. "Yes, yes. Very pretty, love." _I'll have to go back and buy the strap on, _she thought, regretting part of her shopping trip. _Well, plenty of time for that. _She felt John behind her now, his arms snaking around her, his chin on her shoulder as the couple looked down at their captured and now thoroughly well fucked prize.

"I don't want to let him go."

"No, I don't think he wants to be let go."

"No," the couple heard a soft word from Sherlock.

John pressed his semi hard erection against the back of Molly's thigh.

"Well, then," said John, "We'll have to keep him forever."

Molly turned her head to John and kissed him, tonguing him gently.

"Yes, forever."

Sherlock opened his eyes and saw his lovely people kissing as they knelt between his knees, palpably in possession of him. _Yes, yes, forever, never let me go just keep me tied here forever John Molly Molly John oh god I love you I love you both so much_

* * *

_Ok, there you go. _

_Hopefully worth the extra little wait._

_There really aren't a lot of Jollockers out there, and I really need to hear from you!_

_Let me know what issues you think need to be resolved as we get closer to the bitter end._

_It won't be bitter, though, you know – all happy endings_

_(nudge, nudge, wink, wink, say no more)_


	38. The Wee Hours Again 051913

_Heyyyyy - Thanks for waiting - Here you go:_

_In which Sherlock and John talk things over  
_

_In which Molly gets some special attention_

* * *

_**Wee Hours Again**_

Sherlock woke with a start and found the bedroom quiet and dark. The usual ambient light was gone - someone must have drawn the curtains – and he strained to see objects in the room. The first thing he noticed was that he was still in his restraints _yes, my restraints mine they can borrow them if they want to but these are mine_ and they were still secured to the bed. Sherlock smiled as he remembered what the three of them had just been up to, only an hour or so ago. He strained carefully against the cuffs and ankle restraints, stretching his muscles. He noted no ill effects from the bonds. _Perhaps there will be some stiffness in the shoulders, but circulation seems fine. Why am I awake? Oh. Bladder seems to be full. What to do?_ _I must have dropped off, _he thought, _where's John? _He heard Molly breathing regularly next to him, but John was gone. He listened carefully then, and noting the quiet flush of the toilet in the bathroom, he breathed a sigh of relief. John entered the room only moments later, and slid into bed next to Sherlock and saw that he was awake.

"Ok?" John asked.

"Mmm," murmured Sherlock, "I have to use the loo, however."

"Oh, god, sorry. You only just dropped off, and I had to -." John quickly reached to Sherlock's wrists and uncuffed them from the bed, and from each other. Then he leaned down to unclip an ankle restraint from the bed, and Sherlock reached down to do the same to the other and quickly slipped out of bed. Sherlock padded out to the loo. John slipped out of bed, too, a moment later and followed him. _Why am I following him? What am I doing? Why am I not back in bed with my beautiful wife? _John knew he was still under the spell of the vision of Sherlock in his collar and cuffs. Like a school boy, John waited outside the bathroom door until Sherlock was finished and when he opened the door, he stepped up to him.

"Hang on a moment." Said John, taking the loop in Sherlock's collar in his fingers, firmly.

"John?" Sherlock smiled, seeing a little bit of madness, a bit of debauchery about John's features.

"Let me just show you something," John, gently brought Sherlock's face down some inches to his own level, and directed Sherlock back into the bathroom until his back touched the rim of the sink. Then John brought Sherlock's wrist restraints together and clipped them to one another, then clipped them to the Sherlock's collar.

"Safeword is still biosphere, but I just want to show you something – I think." John looked at the picture of Sherlock's bondage for a few moments, then gently turned Sherlock to the mirror. Sherlock had to admit it was a somewhat alarming sight, his naked, vulnerable frame exposed, his wrists held at his throat by the restraints. But he smiled even so, particularly to see John's hands which were holding him by the waist, moving lazily over his skin. He felt John stroking him, his flank, his back. Sherlock closed his eyes, the control slipping away again, blissfully receding, as he concentrated on John's hands moving across his body. Then one hand slid up his back and gripped a fistful of hair. John gently pressed Sherlock down, guiding him with his other hand to bend at the waist, until his arms were resting on the rim of the sink, his neck connected to his wrists. Sherlock could now see himself as well as John in this somewhat awkward position, with John's fist in his hair, the other hand on his hip, circling and circling his hip and arse. He saw John's face and torso in the mirror as well, and they locked gazes as John continued to rub Sherlock's skin. Then Sherlock felt John's thumb gently slide into the cleft of his backside, slip down and explore Sherlock's opening. John's thumb tested the muscle's tightness, then pressed against it, entering him, fucking him gently but more and more deeply. Sherlock's head reeled from the pleasure of this, but was quite off balance at John's having initiated such a thing at all.

"John, love, what has gotten _into_ you?" Sherlock couldn't help but leer into the mirror at the doctor.

"I don't know, it's you, it's you in these bonds, fuck, _you've_ gotten into me."

"No, John, I haven't gotten into you, I have _never_ gotten into you, have I? Hmmhmm." Sherlock smiled into the mirror, even in his extremely compromised position.

"No, no you haven't, have you? Ahaha." John paused and looked thoughtful for a moment then spoke again. "Keep your eyes on the mirror, turn to the side a little. That's right. Now lift your knee to the rim of the sink. Good."

Sherlock's new position afforded John a better view of Sherlock's open arse as he probed him, pressing his fingers in, now. He needed more lubricant, however, to make this exercise more comfortable for Sherlock. John reached to a cabinet where he knew there was an extra tube. He slicked his fingers with it, and drove deeply but still gently into Sherlock's opening, letting Sherlock's little love sounds and moaning wash over him. He breathed deeply as the vision of this scene – to his mind – of depravity touched him, worked on him, pushed buttons he didn't know he had. John pulled Sherlock's head back just a bit, pulling the hair and pressing his erect cock into the back of Sherlock's thigh.

_For god's sake is he going to shag me like this it's extremely uncomfortable but incredibly exciting how delightful what on earth has come over him it's as though he's channelling his inner dominant. Is he all right? _

"John, love? Are you all right?" Sherlock managed to breathe out without changing the position he was in.

"I'm – I'm not going to - I mean, – I guess I just want to hold you for a moment and – look at you. Are you – are you all right?" John was concerned and responsive, but not to be deterred, it seemed. Sherlock was a little relieved, and decided to go along with John's requests.

"Aghm. Yes, I'm fine," Sherlock managed, trying to get comfortable in the position, supporting his weight with only the one foot, balancing his knee on the rim of the sink as well as both of his arms with his collar still attached, rather uncomfortably to his wrists. But he immediately felt John become gentler as he removed his fingers from deep inside Sherlock, and replaced them with just his thumb, gently fucking him, stroking his hole with the one finger.

_This is what you are now Johnnyboy goddamn faggot buggering blokes proud of ourselves are we shagging men and –_

John's inner voice stopped suddenly. It hadn't been around for a little while, and now it had only made a momentary appearance and was gone. _What a relief. Is it gone?_ John closed his eyes a moment, still stroking his thumb into Sherlock. No, it was gone, now. He opened his eyes again, and saw Sherlock's patient but concerned expression. But then this new urge, voiceless, but no less upsetting for John, to hold, to press, to bind, to grip, to fuck, to possess this man. It was a strong and painful urge that came to him not without violence, though he was able to quell that aspect of it. It came, he knew with these physical bonds they'd put on Sherlock. _What am I doing here? What do I think I'm doing to him? _John took in the debauched scene again, letting it work on him. John's hands were on Sherlock's hips, ready to plunge deeply into him, Sherlock's wrists bound to his neck, helpless, debilitated, his legs spread with his knee's elevation to the sink, open and waiting. _He likes it, this kind of play, _John thought,_ but I have to be very careful not to hurt him. Oh my fucking Christ he is so beautiful in those restraints I could so easily fuck him right here, right now, so hard and so fast he wouldn't be able to sit for a week. No, I must be very careful not to hurt him. I must be gentle with him, gentle, he's not just mine, he's Molly's too. No, I'll – _

John leaned down to Sherlock's arse, still reverently circling his hands at Sherlock's hips and lapped at his cleft with his tongue. He smiled at Sherlock's hiss of surprise, and then his moans of humiliation and pleasure. No, he probably didn't see that coming. John spent a few long moments, rimming Sherlock, letting his friend moan and sob a little before he stopped.

"I love to hear you, the sounds you make," John said when he was done. "Here, put your knee down." John directed Sherlock's knee off the sink, but kept a hand on his back, keeping Sherlock bent over at the waist, and recommenced gently fucking him with his thumb. _What is so compelling about this man in ropes? In leather binding? _John gave up. He gently lowered himself to Sherlock's back, putting his arms around his friend, lapping at the skin of his back with his tongue, whispering things against his skin, brushing him with his lips. John ran his hand up Sherlock's back to his neck, gripping him there, then quickly, forcing himself to do it, he unfastened the buckle on the collar, letting it slip off, and partly into the sink, the metal hardware making a clinking sound. Sherlock seemed to understand the moment was over, and rose slowly to his full height, feeling John standing up straight with him. He turned to John. He presented his wrists, still bound together for John to release, which he did, setting the cuffs and collar aside. Then he dropped to his knees, stroking Sherlock's legs as he lowered himself to the cold tiles.

"No, John, that's not nec -." Sherlock reached a hand to his friend.

"Not _necessary_? Ahaha." John undid each of the ankle restraints and kissed each of the ankles, slowly, taking his time, pressing his lips to the skin of each foot and holding them there for several moments. He rose to stand before his friend, and took his wrists in his hands, and kissed each of them, rubbing them in his hands.

"I don't know, I – I - ." John tried to explain.

"It's all right. Come here." Sherlock put his arms lightly around his friend, and John allowed him to hold him. "The restraints, John, the restraints are so, they're so -."

"Yes, they are," John agreed, "But they do something to me, too, I think."

"Yes, it's thrilling to see. And, John, the collar and wrists against the sink was irresistible."

"Hmm. Yes, you were very – ah – lovely – on the sink. Ahaha. Perhaps another time. I was – I was starting to frighten myself a little."

"Ah. I see. Yes, that kind of - transformation can be – upsetting. At first. I love it, though, John, it's ah – well, it's _hot_."

"Ahaha." It was always a little bizarre hearing Sherlock use such vernacular vocabulary.

"And I'm fairly sure Molly likes it."

"Does she?"

"Surely you know she does."

"I – I -." John was at a loss for words.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't want - to hurt you."

"If you don't want to, then you won't." Sherlock gently took a step back from John and took his wrists in his hands.

"Here," said Sherlock, "Let me show you something." Sherlock put John's wrists together in the same attitude that Sherlock's wrists had been held in the restraints when John had clipped them together only moments before. Then he pressed the wrists to John's throat, where they would have been held had John had on the collar and cuffs.

"Can you hold there?" Sherlock asked and John nodded. "Safe word is biosphere, still, but you can walk away at any time, obviously, since you're not bound." Sherlock turned John to the mirror, and gently directed him to the same pose that Sherlock had just been made to hold. With his hand, Sherlock directed John to turn his body and prop his knee on the sink as well. Then Sherlock got the tube of lubricant, and tenderly pressed his fingers into John.

"Ah – I – I-."

"You like it John, remember?" Sherlock smiled at John's conflict yet again.

"Yes, yes – but – are you -?" John couldn't finish his question.

"Hmm?" Sherlock was enjoying touching John's hip and the curve of his arse, the nip at his waist. His fingers were deep inside John, now as he watched his friend's face contort with mixed emotions. Sherlock continued to stroke his friend gently.

"John, may I – take you – here, this way?"

"What – you, you -?"

"Hmm, John? May I?" While Sherlock maintained an outwardly sad and pleading look for John's benefit, he was enjoying John's total compliance and trust in him, as he asked the impossible. He'd like to see how long he could take this little joke, but he wasn't a sadist. Finally he chuckled lightly.

"Here, put your leg down, go ahead, stand up, relax." Sherlock directed John's leg off the sink, then he backed away from John, and leaned against the wall, an elbow against the adjoining wall. John stood up and faced his friend, his face a smiling question.

"Lovely, so lovely, your trust in me," Sherlock began as he rubbed his face with his hands. "We all have urges we control. You waited, with your lovely knee on the sink, all open and ready for me. But I couldn't – I wouldn't want to unless you -. Did you think I would?"

"No, I – I don't think – I wasn't sure what you were up to." John was leaning back against the sink, his palms on the rim of it.

"Hmmhmm. I didn't think so. It's the same thing for me. I trust you, I know you won't hurt me."

Sherlock noted John's concerned expression. He knew the doctor was struggling with the way their little exercises were taking him despite the fact that Sherlock himself was benefiting from such wonderful release because of them.

"I have to admit, John, these – games – have been - are very liberating, very freeing for me. But I see you have some – difficulty lately?"

"Yes. I – I have the – urge – to do a thing, but then I find I don't _want_ to do it, it's not – it's not right somehow."

"Hmm." Sherlock took a couple steps to the sink, and John stepped out of the way, as his friend washed his hands. John did the same when Sherlock was finished.

"Like this, like taking you in here, and – I – ultimately didn't want to – do that – like that."

"Ah, I see. Too bad." Sherlock gave John a wink and smiled. "Well, you're – testing yourself a bit, I suppose. Seeing where the urges will take you, but then ending the thing if you find it's not what you want." Sherlock shrugged, giving John the hand towel to dry his hands.

"When you put it like that, it sounds perfectly natural. Perfectly normal," said John.

"It is, love."

"Ah. Is it?"

"Yes, John."

Sherlock hated seeing John conflicted on a whole new aspect of their growing physical relationship when he seemed to be just getting over that inner voice nonsense.

"Remember our first night? When you both came to me?" Sherlock's tone became reverent whenever he spoke of the first time the three of them slept together.

"Mmm."

"I remember it so vividly," Sherlock closed his eyes, shaking his head, smiling. "You said that you and Molly had found that you were a bit of a voyeur. And then you said 'human sexuality,' and you – rolled your eyes, and lifted your hands." Sherlock copied John's shrugging motion, his hands held palms heavenward. It communicated a sort of cosmic giving up, giving in. "Do you still feel that way?"

"Of course." John smiled, knowing where Sherlock was going with this.

"Perhaps it's just a little harder to accept in oneself, rather than a patient? Or someone else?"

John smiled at Sherlock.

"I suppose you're right." John hung up the hand towel.

"_Suppose?_"

"You're right. Obviously."

"That's better," said Sherlock. The two men smiled at one another sheepishly, then Sherlock put his hand on the door. "Shall we go back to bed?"

"Yeah, getting cold."

* * *

Back in the bedroom, John and Sherlock heard Molly moving in bed, turning around toward the door.

"Where did you go for so long?" They could hear the pout in her voice, though they couldn't see her face.

"Oh, love, we had a little chat in the gents." John said.

"Yes, I heard voices. What about?" Molly was feeling a little bruised to be left in bed alone while a whole long conversation seemed to be going on in the bathroom. She often felt that the fledgling triad relationship they were fostering was tenuous and was afraid of something breaking it up. _Would they leave me? Would they go together somewhere and leave me? No, not my John. Not my Sherlock. _

"John, shall I?" Sherlock asked, slipping in on one side of Molly.

"Yes, of course," said John, slipping into bed on the other side of his wife. John was happy to let Sherlock explain their bathroom conversation, he wouldn't have the stammering, the emotionalism, the upset that John would. _And he'll keep it short, too_, he thought.

Sherlock related what had passed between the men succinctly, and to John's mind, accurately. Molly took it in, and put her arms around John.

"Ah, I see. Yes it is interesting, how you change in bed lately. It's quite exciting. But I didn't know you were concerned, love?"

"Mmm." John didn't know what more to say about the matter. Molly kissed him, and tried to soothe his furrowed brow with her lips. She changed the subject, when it seemed to her he didn't care to talk about it further.

"Well, as long as you're not planning to run off together and leave me."

"Molly, love." John hushed, "You'd have to come, too, darling. I can't do without you."

"Neither can I," Sherlock spooned Molly, nuzzling her neck, his hands between her legs, but only gently petting her there.

"Mmm. No. You mustn't leave me out."

"Molly, darling, no, we would have talked in front of you, but we didn't want to wake you," John voice was coloured with his genuine concern for Molly's feelings and both Sherlock and Molly heard it.

"Promise," Molly asked, but she seemed soothed.

"Oh, sweetheart," John lifted Molly's chin, and searched the darkness, trying to read her eyes, but was unsuccessful. "Of course we promise. Sherlock, tell her."

"Molly, I owe you my - I _belong_ to you, love. I'll never leave. You're rather stuck with me, darling."

"Me, too," said John, as he nuzzled her breasts, kissing them, gently sucking them. "Tell me what you'd like, sweetheart, hmm, or may I - ?"

"Yes, John, you may - ." Molly always preferred it when John took the initiative in bed, even if it was only his usual procedure of pressing her down on her back, and taking her gently. But he surprised her tonight and sat up in bed, turning her around from him, and pulling her to sit in his lap. He lifted her against him, pressing his erection into her from behind and let her roll back and forth a bit until she was comfortable and adjusted to having him inside her. John kissed her neck and kneaded her breasts in his hands, as Sherlock watched them, smiling, as always loving the sight of them together. Then John leaned back slowly, somewhat propped up on the pillows, pulling Molly against him to lie on top of him. He spread his legs and Molly's with them.

"Sherlock, love?"

"Oh, John," Molly gasped, loving the situation, John deep inside her, pulsing into her gently at the same time she was completely open and exposed for Sherlock to do as he pleased. _This isn't at all his usual thing, why did he think of this? _She wondered. _Is all of this because we've tied up Sherlock? Or is it just that we have Sherlock at all? A little bit of sheer heaven. John. Sherlock. Would they? Could they ever leave me?_

Sherlock knelt up in bed and leaned to Molly, kissing her, then bent further to nuzzle John and kiss him, then he slid down the bed and crept in between the knees and legs of his people, pressing his mouth to their knees, their inner thighs, running his lips up and down from Molly's skin to John's and back again.

"_Sher_lock, ahaha." John was a little surprised at the contact. He thought Sherlock would concentrate on Molly, but was enjoying the contact with his friend. Molly was almost immediately non-verbal, moaning and cooing. She felt Sherlock's hands and lips on her thighs as he crept inexorably up to her sex, leaving a trail of kisses. She felt him press his lips between her legs, lightly, gently, only kissing, then she felt him go lower, and felt John squirm and heard him giggle. _Oh, he's tonguing John, too, how lovely. It's adorable how new it still is for John, _she thought. _Sometimes he reacts like a newly initiated girl. _

"Ahaha." John laughed, but his heavy breathing and straining gave away his excitement. "Ah, oh, god," he said, and Molly felt Sherlock's hand at her sex just where John was gently thrusting into her. She felt his fingers enter her with John's cock, then pull away again. It took her breath away.

"You are so lovely, so lovely together. I love to – oh, god – I -." Sherlock trailed off, and Molly felt him lower his mouth to her and felt his tongue lap at her, and then at John's thrusting cock, kissing, and licking them both as John continued to stroke into Molly.

"Jesus Christ, love," John managed, straining, arching into the pleasures he was feeling. Sherlock smiled, recognizing John's reaction as somewhat mixed and unsure, somewhat unprepared. _But he's doing so well, in general, completely enchanting, _thought Sherlock. He put one of his fingers in his mouth, wetting it, then slipped it into John's tight opening, gently stroking into him and was delighted to find him still wet and slippery from the lubricant they'd used in the bathroom.

"Oh, Christ, ah – ah – it's good, it's, it's ah-." Sherlock smiled and almost chuckled to hear John's conflicted sounding comments, when he was clearly having a ball. Then Sherlock put his mouth, his lips, his tongue on Molly, just where he knew she liked it. He pressed his tongue between her folds slowly, in no rush at all, as he stroked John just as slowly, brushing against his prostate with each gentle, loving stroke.

"Oh, fuck, love, that's - oh, _shit_ -." John was starting to thrust a little more strenuously as was Molly. After some few moments, John's increased urgency caused him to pop out of Molly, and Sherlock didn't waste a moment before sinking his mouth down John's shaft, working his tongue along the underside.

"Oh, god, Sherlock, _Sher_lock, love," John gasped at the sudden new contact with his friend. But Molly reached for Sherlock's hair and begged softly.

"Please, please," Molly tugged at Sherlock's hair, and Sherlock obliged her, by gently pressing John's erection back into her. He watched them thrust together for several strokes, then couldn't help but lean in and tongue them again where their flesh coupled. _One flesh,_ he thought and wanted to be part of it, a part of _them_ as he ran his tongue up and down the base of John's thrusting shaft and all along the lips of Molly's sex where John was pulsing in. He breathed in deeply, taking in the scent of them together as he reverently kissed and tongued them there where they were connected.

"So lovely, you're so lovely together, I want, I wish - " the couple heard Sherlock say.

"You're lovely with us, we love you," Molly said, thrusting harder against John as she became a little more frantic for her release.

"You're with us, love," John said, reaching his hand to Sherlock's arm, then gripping the back of his neck, "You're with us right now, love."

"Yes, yes, I know, I just - ." Sherlock saw he was potentially killing their moment as they worried that he was getting maudlin again this evening. To prevent this, Sherlock intensified his efforts to bring Molly to her finish, which he managed fairly easily, bringing his tongue to her favorite spot, and being as attentive as he could. Molly called out the names of her lovers as she sobbed her release, collapsing backward against John.

"Molly, love, ok?" Sherlock asked, kissing her and stroking her hair.

"Mmm, Sherlock, love you."

"Love you too," said Sherlock and he easily slipped Molly up off John's cock, and let her relax back into the mattress, then he took John into his mouth.

"Oh, god, love, that's – that's good – fuck, fuck, _fuck." _It didn't take John very long and Sherlock was thrilled to feel John's hands in his hair, gripping his curls gently, but firmly, guiding his head as he sucked him. When John was finished, Sherlock licked and kissed John's still pulsing erection until his friend reached a hand to his head, signalling him to stop. Sherlock slid up in bed to kiss him.

"All right?" Sherlock asked, stroking his friend's cheek, licking his throat.

"Yes, love," John murmured, biting his tongue before he said 'thank you,' knowing how Sherlock hated that, stroking his friend's face and hair, instead.

"Sherlock, love?" Molly beckoned to him, and he gently mounted her where she lay, now, just next to John. He was able to kiss John from time to time as he stroked into Molly, nuzzling her neck as well. He took her very tenderly as he held one of John's hands, his fingers laced between his own. When he came he noticed he wasn't able to repress a few tears, a few happy sobs of nothing more than gratitude, relief and love. _Even after all this time, these months, what was it now, six months_? He still couldn't believe his good fortune at having them with him in this way. _John and Molly Molly and John._ His friends put their arms around him and covered him with kisses, murmuring little love words, holding him tightly. One by one they dropped off to sleep this way, bundled up tightly against one another, so warm without the duvet, no one bothered to reach for it and they slept this way almost all the way through until dawn.

* * *

_There you go_

_Thanks for waiting_

_Next instalment is almost allllll Sherlolly – I wanted to do it here, but ran out of room. No more monster chapters!_

_Please let me hear from you for heaven's sake!_

_I'm desperate to hear what you think :-D_


	39. Personal Best I 052613

_In which Sherlock & Molly discuss the previous evening_

_In which Sherlock and Molly go for the gold_

* * *

_**Personal Best I**_

Sherlock felt Molly moving in the bed next to him, and he opened his eyes to plentiful daylight streaming through the window. John, though fully clothed, was lying next to Molly, kissing her, murmuring to her.

"Hey," John said when he noticed Sherlock was awake.

"Mmm, time is it?" Sherlock rubbed his eyes with the heel of a hand, then reached a hand to his people, not caring who took it, John or Molly, either one would do. But both John and Molly took his hand and John leaned toward him. Sherlock still wasn't used to it, and when John leaned in to kiss his neck, he hissed with pleasure.

"I'm late, but I wanted to – make sure you were ok."

"He couldn't leave without kissing you goodbye," Molly shook her head in mock disgust, but smiled as John leaned over her, reaching for Sherlock.

"Molly will have to help you with this," John whispered as he took Sherlock's morning erection in hand, stroking him gently.

"Mmm, I'm sure Molly will do a fine job," Sherlock smiled, ruffling John's hair.

Molly pursed her lips, thinking about whether or not she should be offended , but she was so pleased with how these two were getting along, she said nothing, and smiled. "Molly, love," Sherlock leaned to her cheek with his lips even as John slid down his friend's body to take his cock in his mouth. "_Ah_, John." But John was up off the bed quickly after only a few moments of teasing tongue play.

"Sorry, I really must, Molly, sorry." John smiled at the two of them as they lay in one another's arms. "I'm going to be late, now."

"We'll go to the door with you," Sherlock heaved out of bed, and slipped into a pair of pyjamas, and the three made their way to the door where there was more ridiculous kissing, cooing and love protestations. Even on the landing outside the door, John lingered, and his wife and friend were happy to have him linger, as they continued their stroking, and petting. At length, John tore himself away and trotted down the staircase. At the bottom of the stairs he turned and waved.

"See you at five."

"Love you."

"See you then, love."

John managed finally to get out the door.

"He's in love with us."

"Yes. And we're in love with him."

Molly and Sherlock made their way back into the kitchen, where Molly made some toast for Sherlock and then started a little perfunctory tidying up.

"So you went _shopping_ – yesterday?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes." Molly replied, pausing a moment to run a hand through his curls.

"What – what made you -?"

"Buy the cuffs? The collar? I don't know, I guess – I thought you wanted – you know, to be able to be a little more physical – without – I don't know? Without hurting anybody? Or that you needed to think the restraints would _keep_ you from hurting anyone. Was I right?" Molly looked to Sherlock for confirmation.

"Mmm. Yes, I suppose that's it. Something like that. Oh, god, the cuffs, the cuffs are – oh, god, Molly."

"Yes," Molly agreed. "You were very lovely in them. And John is smitten with you all over again. And he's so lovely to watch with you. Maybe he'll be able to let go of himself - a little more with me – too. You know? Oh, I wish – I wish he didn't have to have this new difficulty with - the restraints, though?"

"I don't think it's difficulty with the restraints per se," said Sherlock, sipping his coffee. "In fact, he's in love with the restraints. He's - having trouble accepting how they make him feel."

"Mmm. I had no idea he was so dominant. I mean, when we - when he and _I_ -."

"Yes, I know. Maybe it's only with men. For him. Or maybe it's only with _me_."

"Hmm. Best not put that kind of label on it."

"No, no, of course not." Sherlock immediately appreciated the wisdom of not discussing that particular notion with John. No need to open an old can of worms. Sherlock watched Molly as she pottered about the kitchen, washing up the dishes, putting away the bread. _Why is she so late at home? _he suddenly wondered.

"Molly?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you – working today?"

Molly didn't turn to Sherlock, but smiled, her back to him, and tried to keep her voice as normal as possible.

"No – I have the day off."

Sherlock grinned, then pursed his lips. The word debauchery came to mind. _Isn't the French language absolutely magnificent? So expressive. So wonderfully sensuous. _He stepped behind Molly, taking her in his arms.

"Really, Molly? _All_ day?" He worked a hand into her dressing gown and reached down, caressing her sex, gently stroking the hair there.

"Um, yes," said Molly, "Unless, unless _ah -."_

"Unless what, love?" Sherlock had gently slipped a finger into her, finding her particularly wet.

"Unless I – I – I go to the _shops!_"

The mug she was washing clattered into the sink as Sherlock hiked her gown to her hips and pressed his erection against her hip.

"Yes, the shops, that sounds, ah – oh, Molly."

Molly turned around to face Sherlock, and shrugged out of her gown in one gesture, sending the red silk pouring down her body to the floor where it pooled around her feet. Sherlock shucked off his pyjamas, and Molly quickly hitched a leg to Sherlock's waist and he easily lifted her to the edge of the kitchen counter. She locked her legs around his waist, and locked her arms around his neck. He entered her quickly and smoothly then picked her up off the counter holding her to him.

"All right?" he asked.

"Yes, yes," said Molly already breathless and surging against him in his arms.

"The shops can wait, then? Hmm? The washing up . . .?" Sherlock smiled.

"Yes, _yes_, ahaha."

Sherlock let Molly writhe and squirm against him, impaled on his cock, trapped in his arms. She loved taking over, taking on all the so-called 'work,' and Sherlock loved watching her, either when she was with him, or with John. After several minutes of struggling to keep her from falling out of his arms to the floor as she bucked against him, he decided he'd better sit down and let Molly have her way with him. He managed to plop into a chair.

"Oh, good, love, yes, let me, oh, _good_ -." Molly's wet lips were whispering for no apparent reason, but Sherlock smiled as her breath tickled his ear. He held her hard, but carefully around the waist as Molly seemed to go mad flinging herself against Sherlock, pounding against him. Sherlock was barely able to keep his hold on her, and almost giggled at her desperation. At length she finally reached between her legs to touch herself there, still surging against Sherlock's cock, pumping up and down.

"Molly, love, what can I do?" Sherlock's voice was strained, but he was still very much in control of himself.

"S'ok, I've got it," she said, and stilled somewhat against Sherlock. He let her touch herself, let her move against him as she would, let her use him, essentially until she finally fell against his shoulder, setting her teeth into his skin. Sherlock felt her stiffen and spasm, her arms, flailing away from her body, weirdly disconnected from her. Sherlock smiled and whispered in her ear.

"So lovely, darling, but I'm still ready for you, if you like?" He reached for her arms, drawing them back to her body and pulsed into her gently for now, knowing he wouldn't have to wait long before she was pumping against him again. He slowed though, when she came back to herself a bit.

"Shh, love, no rush, is there?" He asked, pinning her wrists together behind her in one of his hands, disabling her ability to push against him as hard as she might like. He teased her with a slow rhythm, now, pulsing into her deeply, gripping her hip in one hand, digging his fingers into her somewhat painfully.

"I love how desperate you seem to be with me sometimes. I don't see you do it with John, though, I wonder why?"

"Mmm -." Molly wasn't talking now, he saw, so he didn't make any further inquiries.

"It's lovely - love you, darling. Love you both so much." He licked her ear, then drove his tongue into it, eliciting some very pretty whimpering from Molly. He felt her getting frustrated with the slow pace, but he knew that was only building her excitement. Molly whimpered again against Sherlock's neck. She found that her feet, not even her toes, didn't reach the floor and Sherlock still had her arms captured behind her. _What to do?_ she thought. She pressed into him, her neck against his, her torso against his. All she had were her own stomach muscles, and those of her thighs and she used them now with all the strength she had, pitching and grinding against him.

"Hmmhmm, Molly love, you're such an _in_teresting woman." Sherlock let her arms go, and Molly was able to push down on his shoulders again, getting the friction she wanted, and it wasn't long before she had Sherlock right where she wanted him. She watched as he got close, straining against her, his neck muscles standing out against his skin, his face contorted, then she slowed, and then stopped moving. Unable to stop his rhythm, Sherlock had to grasp her by the waist, the hips, and move her against him. She was light enough for him to actually lift her up and down against him, which he did manage to do for several strokes, but he preferred Molly to strain against him herself, she was so lovely at it.

"Oh, god, love, _please_, stop teasing, I _need_ you now, please, Molly? Oh, please, Molly?" Sherlock begged her.

Molly gave a little moan of satisfaction then gave in and recommenced her straining against him until they were both moaning loudly into one another's mouths, biting and scratching one another's shoulders, stiffening in one another's arms, then riding out their orgasms, holding one another closely and hard, both of them concentrating on making sure Molly remained balanced in Sherlock's lap. They finally were still for some moments, and then they were kissing again, softly, affectionately. Finally they were quiet, and Sherlock waited some time before he asked her again.

"Why don't you do it with John?" He looked at her to see her reaction to the question. He knew she'd heard him before. She might even have been able to answer, when they were in the heat of the moment, but preferred to avoid the question. He saw her eyes flash away from him.

"I, I don't know. You – you -."

"Hmm?" Sherlock murmured patiently, brushing her jaw and cheek with his lips. "If you don't want to tell me, just say that, all right? That's fine, just tell me."

"I – I think it has to do with – our beginning, yours and mine. Whereas, with John, we – we -." Molly always had a little reversion back to an old self when Sherlock questioned her so directly.

"Ah." Sherlock remembered their initial lovemaking sessions in the rather dumpy hotel she had scoped out for his interim hiding spot. Nerves were on edge, fear was running high in both of them. The slightest thing going wrong might have ruined everything. Might have gotten John, Greg and Mrs. Hudson killed. But once they'd gotten to the hotel room, with the door locked behind them, they couldn't resist one another and had had several heated, even somewhat violent couplings. It had been rather incandescent, and the dangers of the moment certainly seemed to have heightened the feelings of the moment.

"Yes," Sherlock remembered, "The adrenaline."

"Yes, you must remember."

"Oh, god, of course I do. Molly." He touched her gently, now. "Thank god that wasn't all we had. Well, really, that thanks goes to you, doesn't it?"

"Mmm." She kissed him again, and hopped off his lap, running her fingers through his hair. Then she returned to doing some washing up.

_Washing up?! _Sherlock was barely coherent again after this last bought of play. _How can she even stand, let alone -?_ Sherlock was a little wounded to be ignored so quickly particularly after their discussion, however brief, of their first moments together. He himself always held the topic in particular reverence. _But what can I do about it now?_ He wondered, looking down at his flaccid member, slumbering in his lap. A number of things crossed his mind, and he rose from the chair, sinking to his knees behind Molly. He gripped her hips, and kissed her backside, licking her, spreading her cheeks, going deeper and deeper to her tiny tighter opening. He heard a very satisfactory clatter of cutlery dropping into the sink when Molly turned around, presenting him with her wet, mussed, completely fucked sex and he pressed his face against it, sinking his tongue into her folds, then he pressed his thumb into her at the same time he drove a finger into her tighter hole, pumping her there. He hummed his mouth against her clit and Molly was pulling his hair now, a little harder than he liked, but he couldn't help but love it as his new respect for loss of control was ever deepening. She collapsed against him with only a little noise at her release, and he held her against him in his arms. But he was determined to destroy her today, obliterate her totally, and he rose, slinging her over his shoulder, one hand on her hip, the fingers of the other deep inside her, probing her.

"Wait, Sherlock, what are you - ?"

"Shh, never mind that, love." Sherlock carried her into the bedroom and flung her onto the bed somewhat unceremoniously.

"No more dishes today, Molly, dear. No shops."

"I have to – make a call -," Molly made to rise from the bed, and Sherlock flung her back to the mattress, pinning her down, lying on top of her.

"What call, darling? Hmm? Bart's? John?"

"Umm-."

"There is no call. Is there?"

Molly giggled.

"Ah – no. No call." she said.

"Hmm. I didn't think so. So, you were just teasing me, weren't you? Testing me?"

"Mmm, yes, aren't I bad?"

"Hmmhmm. Yes you are. Good." Sherlock gripped Molly's neck in his hands as he licked her lips, then pressed his mouth against hers, his tongue easily slipping in, exploring, pressing against her own tongue. There was a brief fight for domination which Sherlock quickly won despite Molly's writhing and biting. When he pulled away after some gentler caressing and nipping he saw that she was a little miffed at having lost her little bit of control. She probably would have won with John. _Or would he have let her win?_

"All right?" he asked by way of apology, and Molly smiled immediately.

"Yes, of course."

Sherlock reached between them and pressed his thumb and finger into her again and watched her fling her head back, arching into his hand, thrusting for better friction against him. _Pagan goddess, animal, sexual shaman, acolyte of Aphrodite, how did England spawn such a creature and shepherd her to me? To us?_ Sherlock sucked her breast gently, still fucking her with his fingers.

"Molly, love?"

"Mm?"

"How many times have you ever come in one day?"

"Hmm, interesting. I think it was 8?"

Sherlock knew the answer to his next question.

"With John?"

"Shh." Molly hushed him. _Hmmhmm, no, not John, I was right, _he thought.

"Our secret," he assured her. "At uni?"

"Yes."

"Boy or girl?"

"Shh."

"Ahaha. Molly, love – well, both, then. Separately? Together? Together, all three? Like us?"

"Mmm. It was – we were – it was fun."

Sherlock could feel his erection come back to life with all this rough activity, and talk of Molly's former, previously unknown sexual life. He nuzzled her neck, biting her and nipping at her nipples.

"I think we'll go for nine today, hmm? Won't John be proud of us?" Sherlock brought up John to find out the truth about these orgasms. He knew there were a few things left out of the story. Sure enough, Molly pursed her lips, and squinted her eyes, looking up at Sherlock imploringly.

"John doesn't know about the 8 at uni, but he knows about – about the boy and the girl."

"Ah," said Sherlock, sinking his fingers deeper into her, looking into her eyes, loving her surrender. "You really mustn't keep secrets like that love, and then tell me about them. You're going to get us into trouble, god, you're going to get _me_ into trouble with John." Sherlock adored Molly's secrets, but genuinely feared John's anger or pain at finding them out. It was like being 13 all over again! " What does John think? How many times does he think you've come with him?"

"Seven."

"Hmm, not bad." Sherlock took Molly's chin in his hand gently. "Any faked?"

Molly tried to squirm away from Sherlock's hold, but he only chuckled. "Obviously the answer to my question is 'yes.' The question remains, 'how many?' and I can deduce that just as easily, by gauging your reactions to my –."

"Two," Molly gave in.

"Just two?"

"_Yes_," Molly hissed. "Oh, you're _horrible_ when you get an idea in your head." Molly tried to get off the bed, and Sherlock held her back, looking in her face with a smile.

"Do you really want to get out of bed, Molly?" He was still gently probing her with his fingers, swirling around her outer folds, then gently plunging back down, deeply, deeply, gently, gently. It was madding.

"No."

"Ah. I'm so glad. So, five for John, and eight for the uni students, boy and girl. Any faked with them?"

"Well, no, actually. We were very young, and – ah -."

"Very young, and very lively." Sherlock kissed her, "We're still young, Molly, _and_ John, don't be ridiculous. Well, not bad, boy and girl uni students, but it doesn't matter, I'm afraid, as we're going to shatter that record today."

"Really, Sherlock, I have things to do, I have to – to - ." Molly's head arched back with pleasure as Sherlock's thumb gently pressed her clit as he held his fingers inside her. Then he removed his hand somewhat abruptly.

"Oh, some business to take care of? Well, I understand." Sherlock smiled and watched Molly lift her head, opening her eyes, revealing her disappointment at the removal of his hand.

"Oh, no? Nowhere to go? All right." Sherlock slipped his hand back between her legs, continuing his gentle exploration of her, then leaned his head down to tongue her sex and kiss her there. He popped his head up to glance at the clock. John would be home at five. It was ten now. _Technically I should have 24 hours, but it's best to get things done early, isn't it?_ That gave him 7 hours to bring Molly off seven more times, easily achievable, he thought. _But I must be very careful to make sure she doesn't fake them_.

"Molly, love, seriously, do you want to? Make a day of it? I'm only being a complete bore, because I know you like it sometimes. Tell me? Am I being too obnoxious?"

"No, love. Yes, let's have a day of it, hmm?" Molly stroked his face with finger tips, then reached for his cock, stroking him gently. He kissed her.

"All right. The next two orgasms will be oral and then inter-vaginal," He announced, but noted that Molly's expression quickly changed to one of amusement and lasciviousness.

"Oh, you _liked_ that? Cold reportage? Why? What does it – Oh." Sherlock dipped his head in embarrassment. "Like that aloof prick I was before we – _before_? What was so lovely about me then?"

Molly smiled.

"Oh." Sherlock continued, ruminating. "Interesting. Reminds you – of – of-. Oh! Of your first moments of _infatuation_ with me? Hmm, Molly?" Sherlock was suddenly smug. "Puts you in mind of – of, oh, god, some few particular moments of excitement for you – hmhm, at meeting me or seeing me unexpectedly?"

Molly continued to smile, now biting her bottom lip.

"Does it remind you of some particular _fantasies_ - you had of me? Of us together?"

Molly licked her lips, leaving them parted slightly.

"Oh, Molly, you will have to tell me these fantasies, won't you? Oh _god,_ Molly, was _John_ in these fantasies of yours?"

"Yes," was Molly's blurted response as the tension was getting to be too much for her.

"Oh, god I can't _wait_ for you to tell me, no you must tell us both, we'll have our own personal Decameron, shall we?"

"Mmm. Good idea. That is, if you're going to actually share with us?"

Sherlock hesitated. Human contact. That was what this was all about, but it couldn't stop at the physical, could it? This still burgeoning relationship with John and Molly had already surpassed his wildest, most hopeful expectations. But it was true he didn't often talk about his past with John or even Molly. It was only with pure dentistry that John was able to pull out some little details from Sherlock about Nana's chair, and his previous weight problem. If the three were to have an actual Decameron, Sherlock realized he'd have to be more forthcoming.

"Yes, you're quite right. I'll have to – I'll have to - aghm – share. More."

Molly smiled, stroking Sherlock's cock, reaching to kiss him, but he pulled away, a wicked smile on his face. He held up a finger, signalling her to wait while he thought about something, then his whole demeanour changed suddenly, and it was as though Molly were in a time four years past, with a man she barely knew, a Sherlock she barely recognized as her current lover. A cold veneer glazed over his expression, and a youthful arrogance suddenly inhabited his body. His words, though comical were unmistakably that of the former Sherlock. The same man, but before the experiences he encountered after he faked his own death. When he spoke, it shocked Molly to hear the same voice, but this utterly different man, this unchanged, aloof, cold man, not her lover, never her lover.

"All right, Miss Hooper. For our very important scientific study, we will be bringing you to an additional seven orgasms in the next seven hours. Shall we begin? Please spread your legs and allow me to bring you to full sexual arousal and then orgasm with – ah – oral stimulation."

"Y-yes, Mr. Holmes," Molly stammered, the nerves of her body leaping as he firmly placed his hands at her knees, spreading them and she gasped when he pressed his face into the wet gaping mouth of her sex already pink and angry with arousal.

* * *

John smiled and looked at the clock. Molly's day off and it's only half ten. _They've been together at least twice now and she's already teasing him for more attention, pretending to ignore him, reading, something like that. Ahaha. _John was sure Sherlock would handle her better than he would himself, but was glad that they would have some time together. Sherlock could see for himself what a handful she was in bed alone when she had a whole day off. While he was glad to have Sherlock with them, now, for his own sake, he was also very grateful to have him to share Molly with, she was insatiable sometimes. _Hmm, if he can manage it, well, he's a younger man, he'll have her again before noon._ John jotted the hours of 10 through 5 on a piece of paper and applied two hatch marks after the 10. _They'll probably have a day of it. We'll see how well I do. Well that is – if they tell the truth. Sherlock will. At least she won't be able to fake it with him._ John had a chuckle to himself, knowing that Molly often faked her orgasms if she thought they were important to John. John let her do it. He was fairly sure she'd faked a one or two when they'd tried to break her record. Well. _What am I to do about it?_ He smiled and shook his head and added a hatch mark after the hour of 11. _He will need to eat something. I hope he has some sense today.I'll give him a call – I'll -_ The door opened then, and the office assistant conducted the next patient into John's office.

* * *

Number 3, oral, had gone quite according to plan, but Number 4 intervaginal was proving problematic as Sherlock approached his climax much more quickly than he had anticipated. Molly was particularly inventive, her glance was challenging as she twisted and bounced her way to her finish. Sometimes she just did 'the usual,' but quite often, she would surprise him with something just a little off course and he'd be out of control faster than he'd anticipated like this time. He'd been confident that he could bring Molly off quickly this way, and still be hard for Number 5, also intervaginal. _Good thing I didn't plan that far in advance_, he thought, as Molly finally was bucking against him in her usual fashion just before she reached her finish. He decided not to fight it, and fucked her into the mattress, coming at almost the same time she did, collapsing on top of her. _Well, Number 5 will have to be a bit more creative_, he thought as he all but passed out, his full weight on Molly's small frame. _Just the way she likes it, _he knew. He felt her purr beneath him.

* * *

John replaced his flask into his lunch bag, and closed the flap of it. _Well at least the take away doesn't go to waste, _he thought having finished a bit of curry. He was sitting in the green space near the clinic on a bench when he decided to ring Sherlock. He keyed in the number with a smirk on his face and was quite surprised when his partner actually picked up his mobile.

"Hey?"

"Hey," John answered, but went on smoothly, "Just wondering if we need anything? There? Milk? Tea?" John was gleeful to note Sherlock's hesitation. _I was right, they're getting up to all sorts today. _

"Um - ." Sherlock's voice was a little suspicious.

"Well, I'll get a smaller milk, shall I?" John couldn't keep the laughter out of his voice.

"Ah – that'll be fine, John. Was that - ?" Sherlock offered nothing further and there was a definite lull in the conversation, if indeed you could call it that.

"Did you eat anything this morning, Sherlock?" John grinned at the pause.

"Um, well, yesss, yes, I did, actually, John. This – ah, morning."

"Hmm, very funny. I mean any _food_, you idiot." John admonished, but with a grin.

The line went silent.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, yes, John, I did have some – toast."

"And drink some -."

"Water, yes, yes, Dr. Hydration, I will drink some water, too."

"Promise."

"Oh, god, John, I promise." _Yes, _Sherlock thought, _Just like being 13 again._

"And don't – I mean - try not to hurt yourself today." John was biting the insides of his lips.

"What are you _talking_ about, John?"

John disintegrated into giggles but managed to say he'd be bringing home take away, so he'd be a few minutes later than five.

"All right, John, I really must -."

"I love you, - both of you Sherlock, kiss Molly at least a couple of times for me, will you?"

"Hmmhmm." Sherlock realized how thoroughly John had sussed out the situation. "Yes, I will. Love you, John. See you at five."

"See you then." John rang off, smiling wickedly to himself.

* * *

"That was Dr. Watson, Miss Hooper. He seems to have some sort of knowledge of our heretofore secret and highly classified scientific investigations today. He's very perceptive. Of course, he knows my methods." Sotto voce, Sherlock added, "He sends his love." Sherlock and Molly smiled at their game of 'aloof-Sherlock,' which was put a bit to the side as they ate their meal. Sherlock even went so far as to lean over to kiss Molly's cheek. "From John," he whispered, then kissed her again, "From me," he added. Molly smiled.

Molly and Sherlock were sharing some take away leftovers, eating them out of the containers at midday. They were standing in the kitchen, passing cartons back and forth to one another when Sherlock finished the vindaloo.

"Interesting."

"What?" Molly asked.

"I've just finished the curry. It was – ah, particularly piquant. Aghm." Sherlock arched an eyebrow at Molly. "I understand that if one engages in -."

"I've heard about this -." Molly took off her robe, and put down her food. "Let me sit down, my legs are made of jam after that last one."

"Well, thank you very much, Miss Hooper." Sherlock was on his knees already, parting Molly's sex, then he placed his mouth, his tongue directly onto her pinker, inner flesh, and then her little knot of nerves, then proceeded to rub her there with his tongue. It didn't take long at all before Molly felt an exotic, illicit, somehow unnatural burn between her legs, it made her squirm and buck as though she had red ants biting at her, stinging her.

"Yes, yes, it stings, oh god, oh _god." _Molly came again, and cold, aloof former Sherlock announced his scientific findings.

"Number five successfully achieved through clitoral stimulation orally with the added stimulus of a curry blend of spices." Sherlock noted Molly's completely dead weight in his arms.

"Miss Hooper? Are you quite all right? Perhaps you need a nap."

"Yes, that would be lovely."

* * *

John couldn't resist and fired off a text to Sherlock.

_How's it going – J_

_What? SH_

_Come on You know I know_

_Gentleman doesn't tell_

_Eat any food? Drink any water?_

_Yes, both, and both of us._

_Ok. Don't break anything you may need later._

_Very funny – see you 5?_

_Ok - J_

_Ok SH_

John rang off and smiled. _Oh, he's feeling the pressure now, He's only got two and a half hours left, before I get home. _John looked at his paper with the hours of the day. Two before 11, one before 12, a generous two before 1 and one before 2. _Well, he's probably already beaten or even with my pathetic 5 or 6. She's lied to me about uni, I know, she's done more than she's said. And now I know for sure because he's sounding a bit desperate. Ahaha! _A strange quiet sort of panic took hold of John, despite his cheerfulness. It made him antsy and a little short with the clinical staff. _Am I coming down with something? What's this nervousness? _He wondered, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Nor could he shake it and it remained, niggling at him for the rest of the day.

* * *

_Oh, ho! Yes, stopping in the middle of the day! _

_That's cuz this one has turned into another monster chapter, _

_and I've determined not to do them any more, 'cuz they take up too much time! _

_AND, there's plenty to enjoy right here! _

_And I want to spend more time on the second half._

_OK – let me hear from you, my darlings! _

_Please: a soft word in my ear will make me feel so goooood!_

_Love you! Ahaha!_


	40. PERSONAL BEST II 6113

_Very mild, loving, caring BDSM with mild wax play_

_In which Molly & Sherlock continue their two games_

_**There is brief mention of rape.**_

_For those of you just dropping in, this chapter is a continuation of the previous one in which Sherlock and Molly are trying to break Molly's record of having 8 orgasms in one day. John is at work, but has sort of figured out that the two of them have been having a day in bed, and has mostly good feelings about it . . . _

_The very idea is entirely ridiculous._

_**Personal Best II**_

Sherlock sat in his small chair in his room, watching Molly sleep as he thought about Number 6. He wasn't sure how it was to be achieved, and was beginning to wonder just exactly how committed he was to this rather puerile exercise. _Haven't we had our fun? _He thought. _Isn't it time to put this silly game aside and – oh, wait a moment – _Sherlock had forgotten completely about the restraints, and he slipped quietly out of the bedroom to fetch them out of the bathroom where he and John had left them during the wee hours. He picked up the collar and cuffs and held them in his hands, running his fingers over the leather and the padding, smiling, remembering, sighing. He closed his eyes reverently as he held the collar. _Oh, John. Molly. _He thought.

He smiled to himself at how quickly he'd abandoned the idea of abandoning the idea. _It's Molly. She's – so much fun. Just like being 13,_ he thought again. _No. Just like being 13 as told by the popular culture._ At least from what little contact he had with the popular culture. His own year of being 13 had been a miserable group of perceived personal failures accompanied by an astounding group of scholarly achievements, accolades and awards. At the time, he had longed to be part of things, part of clubs and parties, to be normal. Instead, he was ostracized at every step by his contemporaries, and, naturally enough, by many of his smaller minded teachers as well. Yes, 13 was the year he'd adopted Mycroft's superior aloofness for good and all. But while his new aloofness got him into even more trouble with his peers particularly the boys, it served him well psychically. He was able to cope with his parent's constantly sending him to new doctors and psychiatrists as well as with his earlier childhood friends' mounting scorn and with his continued inability to play well with others, with being himself, in short. _All because I was too clever_. No, he knew that was wrong, now. It was because he didn't know how to be properly social. There were plenty of clever people, he knew, _not AS clever, of course, _who were brainy, brilliant, even, but who knew how to make friends. He just wasn't one of them. And yes, he was finally able to admit it to himself, _there's probably something a little bit wrong with me. With my – what? Oh for god's sake. Is this the rubbish that Molly and John want me to share with them? How trite. But they want me to tell them - they want to share, _not the information, not the gossip,he now understood, but the burden as well._ They want to share the burden. To help. To love me. What an ass I am._

He returned from the bathroom and slipped into bed next to Molly who seemed to be coming out of a light but comfortable looking sleep of some 40 minutes. He took one of her wrists and buckled it into one of the restraints, then did the same with her other wrist.

"Wha - ?"

"Restraints, Miss Hooper. If you'll allow it? For the study? For our important scientific study?" Sherlock descended to the edge of the bed, and buckled one of her ankles into a cuff, then fastened the restraint to the bit of rope that Molly and/or John had secured to the bed somehow. _When had they done this? _He wondered with a smile. He saw Molly roll to her back, and offer her free ankle to him with a deliciously pointed toe. He took the foot in his hand, petting it, stroking it. Molly tried to keep up with the little game of yesteryear they were enjoying so much. She smiled, but stammered as she spoke.

"Y-yes, that would be all right, Mr. Holmes."

"Excellent, Miss Hooper. The safe word is biosphere, all right?"

Molly nodded and licked her lips as Sherlock buckled her other ankle in, and secured it. Sherlock slid up in the bed to take Molly's wrists in his hands. As he reached across her body to bring her wrists together, he ran his hand across the skin of her abdomen, trailing his fingers across her navel, then up her body to her lovely breasts.

"Your skin, Miss Hooper, is – very – smooth." Sherlock seemed mesmerized, a little drugged, as he touched her skin, and Molly wondered what he was up to.

"Th-thank you, Mr. Holmes?" Molly wavered.

"No, no," said Sherlock, "I merely state a fact, but if you wish to take it as a compliment, you're more than welcome to do so."

"Oh, that's good," Molly said under her breath, appreciating the perfection to which Sherlock was playing his part. He'd now properly vexed her. "What a prat you were," she added, sotto voce.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Hooper?" Sherlock asked, though he'd heard her comment. She looked at him and pursed her lips together. Look at him! That cold expression, a plateful of superiority covered in a stiff sauce of contempt, with a sprig of smugness for garnish.

"N-nothing, Mr. Holmes," Molly continued the game but added, "You perfect, perfect wanker."

"Hmm, you're mumbling a bit, Miss Hooper. No doubt due to the arduousness of the study. Now, your other wrist? Thank you." Sherlock clipped the wrists together _How handy, this hardware, _he thought. Then he brought Molly's wrists above her head, as John had done with him earlier. _Now, where did he – aha, _Sherlock easily located another bit of rope with a loop to which he clipped Molly's wrists, over her head. He sat back and looked at Molly, now bound on the bed. _God, Molly, love, you're so lovely, _he tried to say with his eyes, without giving up the game. He wasn't sure if he'd communicated with her properly, but he continued to run his gaze up and down her lovely lithe body. He appreciated the hair under her arms, and between her legs, and he stroked her there. A woman, a human being. When he was inclined to have a look, Sherlock noticed that John's laptop pornography consistently showed women who were completely shaved, making them look like dolls, show window manikins, babies. He couldn't understand the allure. Yes, he preferred women with dark hair, lots of it, visible, plentiful. Women? No, this woman. He reached a hand to Molly again, unable to resist caressing her skin some more, caressing the hair on her sex.

"Yes, very smooth – ah – skin, Miss Hooper," He repeated, running his fingers over her breasts, down her flank, to her hip, to her inner thigh. He couldn't resist, game or no game, he was a man after all, and without any plan, he knelt between her knees and pressed his face to her inner thigh, then kissed her, nipping tenderly. He breathed her scent deeply, dragging his mouth, his nose across her skin, his tongue as well, until he came to her sex, where he didn't stop. He pressed his tongue deeply into her, his face, and soon was probing her with his fingers. He smiled against her wet skin as he felt her strain against the bonds, as she moaned her approval. _Yes, lovely, lovely I could run my hands over her all day, but what to do, what to do? Ah! _Sherlock suddenly pulled away from Molly and rose from the bed.

"Oh!" Molly was surprised at the loss of contact which was getting very exciting for her.

"Miss Hooper, have you ever taken part in a hot wax scenario?

"A hot - ?"

"Yes, hot wax, Miss Hooper. I will drip hot wax from a candle onto your skin. It's meant to be extremely sensual. I will not drip it onto your face, or anywhere near your head, for that matter, but the rest of you will be - fair game. Would you be amenable to such an exercise? The choice is yours completely." Sherlock raised his eyebrows, waiting for Molly's reply.

"I – ah – that is -."

"Yes, take your time, Miss Hooper, but I do require a yes or no response at some point."

"Y-yes. All right. I mean – If -."

"All necessary precautions will be taken, of course, and since this will be my first time directing such a scenario, it will be brief. But I must assume, given your proclivity for this kind of thing, and the newness of the exercise, that it will stimulate you sexually, and then I can bring you to orgasm for a 6th time, again, either orally or intervaginally, depending on how my own body responds to your particular level of excitement. Yes, there are a lot of variables, aren't there? I'm fairly sure I should be writing this down. Hmm. Next time. Well, Miss Hooper?"

"I-I, that is - ." Molly bit her lower lip, only a little worried, and extremely interested. She continued to play her part of panicky pathologist. _How exquisite, _she thought.

"Yes, a-all right, if you think – y-you - ."

"Excellent, Miss Hooper," Sherlock said, his tone almost bored. He turned to his dresser and fetched something out of it, and returned to the bed.

"The wax will come off more easily if a little oil is first applied to the skin." Sherlock whispered in Molly's ear, and briefly brushed his lips against her cheek. He quickly returned to aloof-Sherlock.

"I will apply the oil to your body, now, if you'll allow me, Miss Hooper? For this task, I will use my bare hands, if that will be all right?"

"Y-yes, Mr. Holmes, that will be fine."

Sherlock put a liberal amount of mineral oil in his hands, and gave Molly that smug and rather faked smile of earlier days. _Oh, I could just smack him!_ She thought. He continued to smile this awful smile as he reached for her shoulders and she turned her face away from him, as he cupped her breasts in his hands.

"_Oh, Molly, was I really that bad?"_ He whispered under his breath when she turned her head.

"Hmph." was all Molly managed, and took the opportunity to test the restraints. Sherlock smiled, though a little regretfully, and continued to spread the oil on Molly's skin. When she felt him more intent on his labours than on her reactions, she turned back and watched him slicking the oil over her body, his hands moving up to her collar bone, then down her frame to her abdomen. He applied more oil to his hands and coated her shoulders and arms, to the restraints. He used more oil and coated her sex, delicately, smoothing one hand between her spread legs, coating the hair and skin thoroughly. He then covered her legs and inner thighs to the restraints.

"Now, then, Miss Hooper. I have never done this before, but I assure you that I will only err on the side of caution. But if you have any doubts at all, I urge you to tell me now, and we'll – think of something else – for Number 6."

"I-I have only the utmost c-confidence in your – judgment, Mr. Holmes." _Please, please drip that wax on me now, _Molly thought, her hips already starting to thrust and strain against her bonds.

"Very good, Miss Hooper. Then, we'll begin." Sherlock turned his back to her, and lit a candle on the dresser. It was a white taper, and she watched it catch fire from the lighter Sherlock held, and then as he dripped an experimental few drops onto his own hand. Then he dripped a few drops on his arm. Then he allowed a few drops to fall on his chest and abdomen. He noted that if he held the taper far enough away from his target, the heat of the wax was somewhat lessened.

"Ah, yes," Sherlock said, half in, half out of character as he dripped the wax on himself. Each drop of wax was a tiny shock of pain followed by a soothing kind of warmth, he could imagine the pleasure it would bring if one were – _oh they must do this to me, and very soon, _he thought. He held his hand under the taper, and approached the bed.

"Ready, Miss Hooper?"

"Yes, yes, go ahead." Molly replied, quite out of character, excited, waiting, begging. The first drip dropped onto her abdomen and Sherlock immediately put his hand under the candle.

"All right?" he asked her, dropping the game.

"Mmm, yes. Can't tell." Molly said, her head arched back, her back as well. "More, please."

Sherlock dripped another drop, and held his hand under the taper.

"All right, love?"

"Mmm. Go on, go _on_," She begged. "I have the safe word if I need it."

"As you wish, Miss Hooper." Sherlock continued to drip the wax from the taper on Molly's abdomen, watching her carefully to note any distress she might have, but she showed only pleasure at each moment the wax contacted her body. Sherlock slowly dripped a trail of wax to her breasts, as Molly moaned her approval and strained against the bonds, but she was mostly arching toward the wax, trying to get maximum contact with it.

Sherlock continued to drip wax up from her abdomen, and was about to drip the first few drops on her breasts, but he stopped. He dripped a few drops of the wax on his own chest, his nipples.

"Oh, god." He breathed, and looked at Molly. Her eyes were dark, and she was straining against the ropes. The restraints were just loose enough that Molly was able to squirm and writhe into the most delicious poses on the bed, and Sherlock felt the blood in his veins rearranging itself, his cock growing hard again.

"Please, please," she was looking at him, now, begging, and he held the candle above her chest, dripping the wax. She hummed and tried to position herself in such a way as to get the next drop where she wanted it. Sherlock smiled at her efforts, knowing that he was in control of this game, and dripped a slow circling pattern of drops around her nipple, and finally on the nipple itself. Molly purred and hummed loudly, now, squirming and writhing, her hips thrusting wantonly.

Sherlock covered her breast with the wax, then dripped a trail over her collar bone and then down to her other breast, where he made more of a zig zag pattern across her breast, hitting the nipple whenever he could. Then he started a trail of slow drips down to her abdomen again. Sherlock did some swirling patterns trailing across her skin, and continued to delight in Molly's moaning and writhing. She was alternately grimacing and grinning as the wax hit her and it was clear to Sherlock that she was having the time of her life. He began to drip a pattern lower to her hips, and Molly suddenly froze, waiting, wanting to feel exactly where he was going to drip the next drop, what pattern he was going to establish. She felt a few hot splashes fall to the hollow of her hip, then down her thigh, then to her inner leg where the skin was quite tender.

"Ah!"

"Molly, are you all right?"

"Yes, it's fine, it's _good_ – don't stop, _don't sto_p! Let me – I may – I may make some noise -?"

"Yes, of course – are you sure?" Sherlock held his hand under the taper as he spoke.

"Oh, god, yes, go on, go on."

Molly felt liberated to make some more and louder vocalizations as Sherlock dripped the wax on her inner thighs, and down to the knee, and back up again, lazily dripping here and there, randomly, surprising her, then establishing a pattern, then going random again. Molly was wholly delighting in it when suddenly the dripping stopped. She opened her eyes to see Sherlock holding the taper upright and away from her.

"What? Aren't you going to – aren't you going to - ?"

"I thought I'd avoid – your sex – to avoid the wax getting in your hair – it might be difficult to -."

"Sherlock, please drip the wax between my legs, please do it, I have the safe word, _please_."

"All right." Sherlock dripped a drop on her knee and began a pattern up her leg to her sex. As he let the drops hit her sex, Molly writhed, smiling, groaning. Sometimes it seemed as though she was trying to avoid the wax, sometimes it seemed that she was trying to open her legs wider to allow the wax to hit her deeper between her folds. _Exquisite, exquisite, why couldn't he get a bigger candle? Why can't he, can't he open me up a bit and get me inside? Maybe two candles? Can't he – _Molly's world started to collapse in the way she recognized as the beginning of the end. _Wait a moment, how did this happen? _

"Oh, god!" She moaned loudly, and Sherlock noticed that she seemed to be getting frustrated, now, bucking and writhing harder against the restraints, and he recognized her pattern of movement and vocalizations as she was getting close to plateau and orgasm.

"All right, Molly, shall I - ?"

"No, don't stop -" she managed, and he saw her loose control, bucking against her restraints, and shouting, seeming to have an orgasm without being touched but for the dripping of the hot wax. He watched her body shudder and quake, then slowly relax. He blew out the candle and replaced it on the dresser. Sherlock announced the results in his aloof manner.

"Number 6, spontaneous with the stimulation of hot wax."

Sherlock slid into bed next to Molly, presumably for Number 7. Molly began to come back to herself a bit, and opened her eyes to see Sherlock's face quite close to hers.

"Time out?" Sherlock asked, very much himself, dropping the game of aloof-Sherlock.

"All right," Molly smiled, and stretched her muscles as much as she could in the restraints.

"Are the restraints all right?" Sherlock asked, running his hands over her skin, her inner thigh, her breasts.

"They're lovely."

"They certainly are. Anyone ever – tie you up before? Like this?"

"Hmm, not quite like this. Not with proper, you know, like these. This is much better. I knew it would be." Molly closed her eyes, licking her lips, and thought about the previous part of the study. "Not _exactly _spontaneous."

"No, but, close enough, hmm?"

"Yes."

Sherlock stretched out beside her again, stroking her skin, breaking off the wax, peeling it away and brushing it off where he could. He tried to take some off of the hair between her legs.

"Ah!"

"Sorry."

"Just leave that – I'll get it later."

"Let me break it, so you can move a little." Sherlock pressed the wax where it was breaking it up a bit, though most of it just clung to her hair and skin.

"Did it hurt? And the heat? When I was dripping it?"

"Hmm? No, no. It was beautiful, love. I could go for longer."

"You didn't seem to," he smiled up at her.

"Hmm, no."

"So, you like the restraints? Will I have to get you some of your own? Pink ones?"

"Hmmhmm. John will have us both tied to the bed. No don't get me anything pink, for god's sake."

"Interesting," said Sherlock, then, "Fascinating. Yes, he could clip us together and pour wax on us both."

"Good lord. Pour?"

"Mmm, yes, it's – it's done. Molly?"

Molly was enjoying Sherlock's hands on her, loving every moment, every inch of contact, and he noticed how she pressed herself against him when she had the opportunity.

"Yes, love?"

"When we – have lunch – I've asked you several times, albeit obliquely, about – you know."

"Yes." Molly knew. He was getting closer to something she kept quite secret, asking about family relationships, other men in her life. Her trust issues. She just wasn't ready to reveal what had happened to her.

"I think I know, of course, and you know – you know I do, don't you?"

"Yes, love. But – not yet. I'm not ready to tell, yet – John doesn't know either."

"No, I didn't think so. Well, you seem to have – readjusted – to - ."

"Shhhh." Molly hushed him and he stopped.

"Sorry, of course, I – sorry. I won't ask, then, love. We'll wait. We'll wait until – until – well. We'll wait, hmm?"

"Yes. Perhaps the Decameron. It's not to be _all_ nice stories, or funny stories, or sexy stories, you know."

"Oh, yes." Sherlock smiled at Molly's idea of a personal Decameron for the three of them. Perhaps it was the thing to break through to a new place for them. Though things were going so well, he couldn't imagine how it could go any better.

With regard to Molly's secret, Sherlock had to assume she'd been raped by someone she'd trusted, a family member or close family friend. He was gratified to see that the experience, whatever it may have been in fact, hadn't curtailed her life experiences. She seemed to have readjusted from her ordeal to a lively sexuality and healthy outlook on life. But he knew there was some kind of damage here. Damage from something besides this bad experience, besides surviving the whole faked death affair, and not knowing where he was for so long. Damage. That's what the three of them seemed to share. A psychic damage that could be ameliorated only with the involvement of the other two. _Maybe it was the fall! _he thought. _Maybe it is my fault. I've damaged both of them, all three of us. No. There was damage before. John, during his time in the service. Molly, this past and other experiences. And me, well me – Ahaha. _

"So, shall we continue? All right for more abuse?"

"Yeah," Molly bit her lower lip, and her eyes twinkled. Sherlock paused a moment, turning away from her, then he turned back to her, arrogant and aloof again.

"Miss Hooper?" Sherlock's clinical former-Sherlock demeanour was less cool, more gentle, now. _What's he up to? _Molly wondered.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes?"

"May I call you - Molly?" Molly chuckled, as she and Sherlock had never called one another anything else but their first names. It was becoming very erotic, this role playing game they were doing while they were both naked, and she was still completely restrained, her wrists together over her head, and her legs spread wide across the bed, leaving nothing to the imagination. She kept up with the game.

"Well, y-yes, Mr. Holmes, if you wish."

"I do. And will you call me Sherlock, please? Molly?"

"Well, yes, if you like. Sherlock."

"Good," said Sherlock. "Because the next orgasm will be achieved intervaginally through manual stimulation, and since that will be rather intimate, well, our faces will be quite close to one another, like this, I thought we might address one another by our Christian names. Perhaps it will help to heighten your sexual stimulation, as well?"

Molly smiled at Sherlock as he tentatively stroked her face with his finger tips. It was strange what he was able to achieve, she thought, with this little game of his. It really did feel as though they had travelled back and time, and they had never been together, never gone through the trauma of Sherlock's faked death, and had never known one another in any other capacity than as scientific co-workers of sorts. It was a strange time when she found him to be so cold, so aloof, and yet there were strange moments, like this one he was recreating for her, when he seemed just a little closer, just within reach, almost.

"Oh, Miss Hoo-, I mean Molly?"

"Yes, Sherlock," Molly breathed.

"Do you remember the bag of thumbs you gave me on Tuesday, December 12th?"

Molly cast her mind back those four years and more and madly enough remembered a bag of thumbs.

"Yes, I believe I do."

"I don't think I ever thanked you properly for them. Did I?"

"Not that I recall, Mr. H – ah, Sherlock, no."

"Hmm. That is regrettable. May I do so now?"

"Of c-course you may, if you w-wish."

Sherlock leaned in close to Molly's face, but stopped just short of his lips touching hers, and whispered to her:

'_Thank you.'_ Then he pulled away.

Molly smiled at the joke, but didn't laugh out loud. She looked into Sherlock's face, and saw no hint revealing the game he was engaged in. It was a thrilling visit back in time to the moments they had shared before they were close, not knowing how deeply they would be connected in the future.

"You're welcome, ah, Sherlock. Sherlock?"

"Yes, Molly?"

"When will Number 7 begin?"

"Well, it begins right now, Molly. I've already removed a bit of the wax from your – ah, body." Sherlock pressed Molly's hips back a bit, allowing her to open her legs, and he slid his hand between her knees, and slid them up between her thighs. Then he looked at her a little apologetically.

"If you'll forgive me, Miss – uh, Molly?" Sherlock slipped his hand higher, his eyes locked on Molly's and she found she was quite thrilled to have former-Sherlock slide a single finger between her folds, and beyond, deeply entering her. She was excited already even after the strenuous morning and part of an afternoon they'd had. She felt him gently add another finger, curling them at the ends, gently exploring. He touched her face tenderly with his other hand, as if to ease any distress he might be causing her in this highly objective scientific exploration. When he spoke it was with a hushed reverence.

"There is much mystique built up around the Grafenburg or 'G' spot in women, as it is called, particularly in association with the notion of female ejaculation, Molly. Now, it is only important for our study that you achieve genuine orgasm, but for my own personal scientific curiosity, if you would allow me to ask, have you ever, Molly, to you knowledge, have you ever expelled any kind of ejaculate during orgasm?

"No, um, Sherlock. Not to my knowledge, ah!"

"Oh, interesting." Sherlock stopped searching. "This spot here?"

Molly nodded, her lips parted, her head leaning slightly back. Sherlock noticed that one of her legs was involuntarily pulling against it's restraint in a jerking motion. He smiled, and gently rubbed the spot, teasing it out a bit, leaving it for some moments, then returning to it.

"Have you – ever looked for your own – ah – Grafenberg spot, Molly?"

"Yes," Molly breathed, stunned into immobility and near speechlessness at Sherlock's touch.

"And did you – find it?" Sherlock continued to swirl his middle finger around the spot he'd found.

"Oh, yes."

"I see. But you – don't tell your sexual partners about it?" Sherlock was a little wounded that this was the first time he'd heard of this from Molly, at his direct questioning.

"I do – if – they want to know."

Sherlock froze _Oh,_ _Molly, love,_ he thought,_ I'm quite sure that's not at all fair of you. _He regained his composure to pursue the role playing game.

"I see. But your husband?" Sherlock pulled his hand part of the way away from Molly's body, to allow her to concentrate on her thoughts, rather than what she may or may not be enjoying physically, though he was fairly sure she was enjoying it.

"My husband - is lovely, but – doesn't go in for hand jobs - or – ah - ." Molly arched her back, trying to regain the friction she'd had only moments before.

"Oh, Miss Hooper, Miss Hooper. I see that you have allowed yourself to be somewhat sexually neglected by – people who love you very, very much." Sherlock looked Molly in the eyes, very much his own self, though he kept up with the game verbally and vocally. Molly hung her head, a little ashamed to have said what she'd said. She knew she only had to ask. Either one of them would do anything she'd ask of them, she knew. And here, she'd neglected telling Sherlock about this for such a long time, now, and she'd never discussed it with John. But she would have talked about it, asked them for specific things when she wanted them in time. She was just so fuckingly incandescently sexually satisfied with both John and Sherlock that it didn't seem necessary to bring it up just yet. And she was very focused on and gratified by Sherlock's and John's continued physical closeness. It continued to be delicious to watch as it unfolded and grew. What more could one want?

"I – I - ." was all Molly could manage.

"If you will permit me, Molly?" Acting his role to perfection, Sherlock leaned in awkwardly to Molly, and brushed her lips with his. "I understand it can heighten sexual stimulation during coitus. And it's - meant to be quite pleasant." Sherlock didn't wait for a reply as he pressed his mouth to Molly's now, utterly and expertly dominating the kiss. _Yes, it's just like he was,_ thought Molly, _It's as if I'm kissing that Sherlock, how does he do it? _Then Sherlock deepened the kiss slowly, never letting her up for air as he explored inside her with his hand, noting every tiny reaction, noting every move, every slight change in her as she became more agitated, as her heart rate rose, as her muscles began to strain against him, as her inner muscles clenched making it harder for him to move his hand, as she threw her head back and moaned, as she arched and bucked against the restraints and as she stiffened and shook and finally relaxed back against the pillows. He kissed her softly, and pulled away from her at last, and she murmured his name, her head rolling back and forth on the pillow. Sherlock mentally noted the results of Number 7 to have been achieved intervaginally through manual stimulation of the so-called Grafenburg spot with speedy and spectacular results.

_John. I wonder how close he is to being prompt this evening? I'm running out of time. _

_**To be continued!**_

_Hey! There you go – more Sherlolly fun in the next bit – _

_probably a little earlier – Looking at Wednesday/Thursday!_

_It would be lovely of you to let me know how you're liking it, _

_if you've been reading a long!_

_Many thanks to my lovely followers & favers! _

_And to you, my reviewers: special big kisses!_


	41. PERSONAL BEST III 060613

_Sherlock and Molly complete their game_

_John comes home – no hard feelings_

_**Personal Best III**_

At Tesco's John hovered over the milk. He knew there was a bit of milk left in the fridge, but it was always nice to make sure there was enough milk for tea. _I wonder how they're doing? _he wondered._ Is Molly asking him for what she needs? it's so hard for her sometimes, wish she could just talk to me. _John thought about Sherlock's and Molly's recent lunches in which they were getting to know one another better, as they put it._ I must do the same, _he thought_ – well – not Wednesdays, obviously. I'll have to, have to - .Oh, god. Will she prefer him? If he's better at listening to her than I am? And, oh, god, sexually. Will she prefer him to me? After all? Does she prefer him now? Oh Molly. _The many headed green eyed spectre of jealousy made its first stinking, hissing appearance in John's mind. He smiled at himself, successfully dispelling the notion for the most part. But there was a greyish fog that remained in the back of his head. _Dispel it altogether, or – madness. Do it now if you can!. _John knew he couldn't harbour this, or there would be serious trouble. He made a mental note to talk to Sherlock about it so it wouldn't be a secret. _Should talk to Molly, too, _he thought.

John selected a small carton of milk and made his way to the tea things. _I like Earl Grey, what's wrong with it, anyway?_ John wondered. _I'll get some._

)))))

"Are you sore, Miss Hooper?"

Molly stretched at Sherlock's question. The bed room was darkened, but Sherlock was clearly visible, sitting up next to her against the pillows and headboard. In order to answer his question, though, she clenched her lower muscles and squirmed a bit, shifting her hips back and forth. She felt slightly sticky and wet, _heavenly,_ but all in all none the worse for wear.

"Hmm, not really, Mr. Holmes," Molly smiled.

"Excellent. Number 8 will be intervaginal as well. As you can see, I have an erection again."

Molly looked at Sherlock who seemed to have dropped the whole former-Sherlock routine, but was continuing, with the clinical reportage, for reasons unknown to her. _Maybe he just likes doing it?_ She thought.

"Ah, that's very impressive, Mr. Holmes." Molly laughed lightly.

"Thank you, Miss Hooper. Now, if you'll permit me?" Molly cooperated with him while Sherlock busied himself with unclipping her ankle restraints, and then her wrists. He lifted Molly to a sitting position, and brought her wrists together behind her back, clipping them there. He smiled into her eyes and whispered to her out of character.

"I rather like you bound, Molly, love, hmmhmm, very compelling." Sherlock dipped in for a kiss, then lifted her up against him, her face close to his.

"I believe they call this the lotus, Miss Hooper," said Sherlock as he gently impaled Molly on his stiff and waiting member. She cried out softly, as he gently thrust deeply, deeply into her, holding her by the waist, pushing her down onto him. Their eyes locked. Out of habit, Molly leaned in to kiss Sherlock, but he backed away, suddenly back in character. She smiled, but went back to the game, too.

"Mr. Holmes?" she asked.

"Yes, Miss Hooper?"

"Do you think you could – continue to administer – oral stimulation – as well?"

"You mean in the form of kisses, little bites and other labial, lingual and possibly dental contact with the skin?"

"Y-yes, Mr. Holmes," Molly shivered at the clinical description of exactly what she wanted Sherlock to do to her.

"Hmm. It's a bit unnecessarily intimate and potentially unsanitary. I'm quite confident I'll be able to bring you to orgasm without that," Sherlock said, gently rocking Molly back and forth on his cock, biding his time, letting her get used him inside her. Molly pouted and looked away, as Sherlock continued to pulse deeply into her, a hand on her hip, the other arm around her shoulders.

"But since you ask," Sherlock continued, "I did find it to be quite – quite – pleasant." His eyes burning, Sherlock crushed his mouth against Molly's driving his tongue into her mouth, thrusting into her at the same time, gripping her hips, grinding her down onto him, pulsing her against him.

"It's not fair to let us get away with it, Molly," Sherlock's voice was strained, whispering into her ear, his breath wet and hot.

"W-What?"

"You must tell us, love, tell us what you need? We want to give it to you, I'm sure I speak for John too, don't I?"

"Yes, of course," said Molly. She was feeling Sherlock's cock so deeply inside her, she imagined it in her throat and was barely able to concentrate on the meaning of his words.

"Promise me, love, to talk to us more? Ask for what you need? I thought you did – I thought you would – please don't give up on us?"

"Yes, yes, _oh_," Molly was already at a plateau, while Sherlock was quite in control of himself. He started some fast shallow rough strokes, and she was coming again, her teeth set in his shoulder to muffle her sobs.

"I'm sorry," she said, "Love you, I love you both."

"Yes, Miss Hooper, lovely Miss Hooper. I love you too. We both do, we love you. We'll make it better. I promise." Sherlock held Molly for some few moments, stroking her hair, murmuring to her, rocking her gently against him, then he gently laid her down on the mattress, and stretched out next to her, reaching to undo the restraints that held her arms together. _Number 8 intervaginal also achieved spectacularly. _He announced to himself. He stretched out by her side and allowed Molly to come back to herself a bit.

"Yes. The lotus. Very nice." Molly murmured almost imperceptibly.

"Doesn't John do that with you?"

"Mmm, once or twice when we were – hmmhmm courting. You've never, yourself, you know, love." She reminded him.

"Yes, we're – we're - ."

"Please don't say anything idiotic." She smiled at him indulgently, and finding her wrists free, she brought them in front of her, and began to unbuckle the cuffs.

"Here, let me," Sherlock took her wrists and undid both the restraints, kissing her as he worked. He kissed her throat and her face, then her wrists and her breasts, chuckling as his lips made contact with the wax that was still on her. Then he slid down to undo the cuffs at her ankles, but as he lowered himself down her body, he put his hand on the wax that was still on her sex. He pulled some out of the hair between her legs.

"It's not perfect, but it comes out easily enough, I suppose. I'll take care of it later, don't worry."

"What have I done to you? John will be furious."

"Don't be silly. Hmm, what's that?" Molly smiled and licked her lips as Sherlock pressed his erection against her leg.

"I don't – we don't have to - ."

"Fuck me, please, Sherlock? Just one more time." She laughed. "It's Number 9, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes, it is – I -." Sherlock gently slid a hand behind one of her knees, spreading her legs.

"Oh god!"

"Did I hurt you?"

"No, the wax – it's – it just pulling the - It's fine, come here, I'm fine."

"Wait a moment. Whom do you want? Me? Or _him? _Sherlock smiled at Molly.

"What are you talk—_oh._" Molly considered this notion. "_Him."_ She chose aloof Sherlock. Sherlock smiled, and mouthed 'ok' to her, and held up his hand as he composed himself. Cold, aloof Sherlock emerged.

"Well, Miss Hooper," Sherlock said, his tone entirely bored. "Our study is complete, I think. You're free to – do whatever it is you do, normally."

Molly blinked. _Oh,_ she thought, _he wants a chase?_

"Oh, is it, Mr. Holmes? But you still have – an erection."

"That's certainly nothing with which you need concern yourself."

"I do, though, Mr. Holmes."

"Why?"

"I - ." Molly smiled. He was leaving it entirely to her how to proceed with this game. She decided to say what she should have said back then. "You certainly must know –how I feel about you, Mr. Holmes? How I've felt about you for years, now." Molly watched cold Sherlock become uncomfortable. She'd never seen that before, though John had told her of how he'd behaved for only a moment with The Woman. She smiled at her own power. Or the power he was letting her have. His head was down, his eyes averted when he spoke again.

"I don't know what you're, aghm, talking about, Miss Hooper."

"Yes you do. I know you do. I bought you that Christmas present. You knew it was for someone – I fancied – sexually – for someone I loved."

"Yes, but – I - ." Sherlock paused.

"Sherlock. You'll let me call you Sherlock, won't you?"

There was a pause as Sherlock rose and sat at the edge of the bed, his back to Molly. Now it was impossible to imagine he was anyone but that former Sherlock, uninvolved, cold, but, now somehow vulnerable to her line of questioning. _Delicious._

"If – if you wish."

"And you must call me Molly. Will you, Sherlock?"

"If you wish - Molly."

"Sherlock, I wanted so many times – to tell you – well – I asked you to coffee, and you - ."

"What? You asked me - ?" _What on earth is she talking about?_

"Oh, I asked you if you wanted to go and get coffee, and – you - ."

"When?" _When on earth did she ask me to coffee?_

"Oh, years ago – it doesn't matter now – Sherlock, there's no reason for a person to care for another person, it just happens, and it's happened to me. I care about you. I don't want you to feel obligated at all, but wanted you to know. I think it would be a shame – if – I never said anything. I should have told you before this." Molly sat at the edge of the bed, next to Sherlock, but far enough apart from him that their nakedness didn't spoil the conceit of the game. She stood, and reached for her robe, and put it on, only facing him obliquely as she spoke. "I'm so pleased, so very lucky to know you at all. Your perfectionism, your passion for the truth, your intellect are all – so very wonderful to watch – at work. Just the specificity with which you work on your samples in the lab – I wanted you to know I felt that way." Molly collected herself for the next part of her speech. "I know I flatter myself –"

"Molly." Sherlock dropped character unable to take any more, he was completely mortified. Molly tried to go on.

"No – I know I flatter myself – to think that – you could – ever look at me and think - ."

"_Molly_, darling, stop this." Sherlock rose and took her in his arms. "What are you doing? Stop it now, love, hmm? La commedia est finita, no?" He ran his fingers into her hair, petting her, murmuring his love to her, and she dropped the game as well, murmuring back. The pair dropped back onto the bed in one another's arms, and they lay back, unhurried and comfortable. Then Sherlock resumed his character one more time.

"Miss Hooper. Uh, Molly."

"Yes, Mr. Holmes."

"You're – you are a very– I find you to be – You're a very competent pathologist, Molly."

Molly smiled to herself, and guessed where this might be going.

"Well, thank you, Mr. Holmes. Sherlock, I mean. Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"Do you – do you find me attractive? As a woman?"

Sherlock paused, looking away, then looked into Molly's face, and touched her cheek with his fingertips.

"To be honest, Molly, I'd never considered the matter. But now that you ask me, I do - find you to be very attractive, very attractive indeed."

"Oh." Molly was surprised, expecting some deflection, some game, but there was none. "What a lovely compliment, Mr. – erm, Sherlock."

"Is it? I merely state a fact."

"It is, I assure you. And, if I may - you enjoyed administering - oral stimulation – earlier? For science?" It was very hard for Molly to keep the giggles out of her voice.

"Yes, it's true, I did." Sherlock seemed to be curious about this question, looking away , puzzled.

"Do you think you would ever want to - do it – for its own sake? For it's own pleasures? With science – on hold – so to speak?"

"Put – science on hold?" Sherlock smiled, and Molly wasn't sure if he was breaking character, or if aloof-Sherlock were making a convenient realization.

"Yes, on hold. For pleasure. For – me?"

"What an interesting notion, Molly. It was very – very - ." Sherlock leaned in to her and kissed her, softly, tentatively. He pulled back, his face a question mark. "And – you don't – mind, if I – proceed?"

"I would like it very much, Sherlock."

"Ah – would you? Then - ." Sherlock kissed her rather awkwardly at first, and she helped him, giggling a little at his game, knowing what he was playing at. She taught him how to move his tongue, how to nip at her neck, she encouraged him not to hold back his strength. When he started to move on top of her, pressing her down, her mind reeled. _Is he, is he going to - ?_

"You don't – mind – Molly – if we – proceed?"

"Oh, I would like it very, _very_ much, Sherlock."

His fingers on her cheek, his eyes locked on hers, Sherlock pressed Molly's knees apart with his own, and gently entered her. His muscles trembling somewhat, he held her like this, his length deeply embedded in her as he looked into her eyes. He leaned in to kiss her again, and then he started to move. _What an idiot I was for not seeing what a marvellous creature she was and how she was coming on to me all the time back then well there's something a little bit wrong with me after all oh god she's so lovely when on earth did she ask me to coffee?_

Sherlock smiled as he moved against Molly, still cataloguing information the way he used to, his old system, flawless. The wax on her body was ticklish at first and he almost laughed, but he didn't want to give up the game. Then its foreign spikiness became an irritant, then it was a weirdly illicit, feeling that became erotic and it was suddenly pressing him closer to the end much sooner than he'd anticipated.

"Sorry – I – _close -._" he managed. He looked at Molly who was smiling up at him, knowing that the game was up, and that he was just trying to hang on. She herself wasn't quite as involved, and was merely watching him, enjoying their union.

"It's all right, sweetheart, you're lovely, Sherlock, I love you," she whispered in his ear, kissing him, and he was finished. His body stiffened and he came rather quietly, then lay in her arms for a moment, before he rolled off her to the side.

"That was lovely Mr. Holmes."

"Mmm, yes Miss Hooper," Sherlock smiled, though he was quite ready to give up this game, now. "Wait," he suddenly remembered, "_When_ did you ask me out to _coffee_?"

)))))

John entered the flat and found himself blinking his eyes at the tell tale smell in the room of recent sex. He went to the windows and immediately opened them, letting in the still cool spring air, slightly clammy. He looked toward the bedroom door, and saw that it was closed. _Thank god, at least they had the sense to keep it shut. Actually it could be much worse in here._ He went off to the kitchen and set out bowls and cutlery and opened a bottle of wine, all the while smiling and chuckling to himself. He returned to the sitting room and his chair with a newspaper and it was only a couple more minutes before Sherlock emerged from the bedroom in nothing at all but his blue dressing gown cinched at the waist, quietly shutting the door behind him. He smiled at John, and fairly limped toward the doctor in his chair, scratching his scalp with both hands. He reeked of sex, John could already smell him, and he looked utterly destroyed, though quite satisfied. The two male creatures regarded one another. John considered jealousy, and Sherlock wondered if his friend would harbour any. Sherlock smiled, waiting for John to do the same, and the two men looked at one another for some few moments. Sherlock tilted his head, questioningly and finally John grinned and then spoke.

"Come here," he said, putting down his paper, and uncrossing his legs.

Sherlock took a couple of steps toward John and hesitated between his own chair and John's. It had been a splendid day, and Sherlock felt quite empowered within the relationship. He didn't exactly _feel_ like being subordinate to John just at this moment. Sitting in John's lap had only ever been delightful, comforting and just _nice,_ but it would be somewhat – _oh, just use the word: emasculating. _Sherlock considered his options. _I could say 'no.' But to what end? Hurt him? Today? After this absurd exercise in sexual one-ups-manship? Just when he needs to feel in control, when he needs to feel dominant. No, I won't do that. _Sherlock smiled confidently, and gently lowered himself into John's lap the way he usually did, letting John put his hands on his waist, letting John touch him and stroke his hair. It was a complete reversal for Sherlock, in only a matter of seconds and it was a bit unsettling for him. But Sherlock sank into it, intent on enjoying it, and was able to, genuinely after only a few moments of adjustment.

"Pah." John said quietly, as he took in Sherlock's scent, burying his face in his hair.

"Hmmhmm, yes I probably need to bathe. Sorry." Sherlock moved as if to get up, but John held him lightly.

"Not at all, not at all. Hmm, you smell like Molly." John nuzzled Sherlock's hair, breathing in the musty scent of sex, then kissed his partner's neck. The smell of him was at first somewhat off-putting to say the least, but then it did something to John, and a hot prickly feeling ran through his body. John hugged his friend tightly, kissing him more urgently, nipping at his neck, and Sherlock leaned his head back, allowing John's attentions without participating, without reciprocating. John smiled as he peeled a bit of the silk away from Sherlock's chest. Sherlock had only ever been completely dressed when sitting in John's lap in this chair, and John relished the bare skin beneath the dressing gown. John kissed his friend's lovely neck, tonguing the hollow of his throat, then brushed his lips lower, gently moving the blue silk out of the way, revealing smooth pale skin, tender pink nipples. John reached down and ran his hand over Sherlock's bare leg and backside, feeling the muscles beneath the skin, kneading him, gripping him. Sherlock was letting go now, and purred. They sat quietly while John gently stroked Sherlock's throat and collarbone with his lips.

"We, aghm, went for Molly's record of orgasms achieved in one day." Sherlock spoke after some long moments. His voice was a little unsteady due to John's unexpected but lovely attentions.

"Ahaha. I assumed - something like that."

The two men chuckled warmly together, and Sherlock felt comfortable, but wanted to make sure John was all right. He was keenly aware of something, _something_ in the room between them.

"It was ridiculous, John. But - John?"

"Mmm?"

"Is it – a problem? Might it be? A problem? That we did this today? Spent the day – in bed? That we, that we - ?" Sherlock only considered the possibility that John was jealous when he'd first seen him in the room. His bearing, even in the chair with the paper in front of him was different, more tense, more terse. Sherlock could feel the strain in the air, still. Even sitting quietly there was usually a lighter quality to John than this, and Sherlock was a little terrified he'd taken a misstep.

"I did have a moment Tesco's, I'll have to be honest with you."

"Ok. Tell me - ?"

"Mmm. I thought 'What if she prefers him? Sexually? What if he's better than I am at guessing her needs, fulfilling her?' That's what I thought."

"Mmm. Yes. I'm – I'm – I didn't mean to – John, I never meant to -." Sherlock became a bit panicky and John could feel the agitation build in his friend's body. He certainly hadn't meant to cause him this kind of anxiety and tried to save the moment.

"You don't have to say anything at all. And you certainly don't need to apologize. That we're able to do this, I think, talk immediately, is – it's half the battle, isn't it?" The two sat quietly for a moment.

"You won't - ," John began only half joking, "You won't take her from me, will you? I – I'd - ."

"John, if I ever thought - I'd have to leave – you. Both of you."

"Oh, love, we can't have that, either," John pressed his lips to his friend's cheek.

"And Molly?" Sherlock asked.

"What about her?"

"Are you – angry with her? In any way?"

"No, I'm not angry with her – with anyone. I'm – I'm just - you know, concerned – a selfish kind of - panic - for myself. That's all. I'm – actually – I enjoyed thinking about you two all day, that's why I phoned you. I had a bit of a laughing jag at one point – I know Molly will have enjoyed herself. She has in such – cases – Ahaha. Did – you? Did you enjoy yourself, love?"

"Hmmhmm. Yes, I did. Mmm, _John_." Sherlock let his head loll back against the chair. "Yes, _touch me._"

Despite his day of domination, of fulfilled masculinity, Sherlock tucked his face into the crook of John's neck, and let his friend pet him like a cat, stroking him, nuzzling and kissing him, murmuring his name as if he were a child.

"Oh, how lovely you two are in that chair. I can't get enough of seeing you like this." Molly had slipped out of the bedroom and was wearing her dressing gown of deep red silk. Her hair was a crazy arrangement of strands and knots, but it was becoming, even so and she dropped into Sherlock's chair opposite the two men and smiled at them.

"I've opened the windows. We'll change the sheets before bed. We - made a bit of a mess." Molly felt the tension in the room, but it seemed to be dissipating, even as she sat in the chair, as she spoke. "Is everything all right, John, love? It's – it's all right, isn't it?" Molly sensed John's tension, but sensed it would only be temporary.

"I think so. You won't pack up with Sherlock and leave me, will you? I'd disintegrate. I'd be ruined." John knew the level of exaggeration he was using was inconsequential. He hugged Sherlock to him tightly, forcing a little breathy sound out of his friend.

"No, love. 'Til death us do part." Molly approached John and Sherlock and hooked a hip onto the arm of John's chair, putting her feet carefully on John's knees, and leaned in. Her nose was only centimeters from Sherlock's and John's. "No, love," she said again. You're both going to have to get used to having me around."

John pressed his lips to Molly's cheek, then pecked her lips with his, then kissed her again more tenderly, to be sure to show her there were no hard feelings. He whispered to her, a laugh in his voice, but no malice.

"Did you get properly done today, love?"

"Hmmhmm," Molly kissed John back, "I think so, love. He's very lovely."

"If I ever thought that I could be the cause -." Sherlock began.

"Shhhh!" Molly and John shushed him together, and then rejoined their hissing with more admonishments like 'don't be ridiculous,' and 'have you lost your mind?'

"We _need_ you, love. We don't work without you."

"Perhaps it's a little overstated, Molly, love, but, Sherlock, you've – you've seen us together – when you were out of town – when we _thought_ you were out of town." John whispered in his ear, loud enough for Molly to hear, "You make us so happy."

"I love it when we make love, and you sneak into the room, somehow, Sherlock, it's thrilling," Molly put in as a side note. There was a not at all uncomfortable lull during which the three simply enjoyed their proximity to one another. Each of them had a hand on each of the others, petting, stroking, or even just swirling a thumb around and around. Fingertips on a cheek, the back of a hand on a pectoral muscle, knuckles against a throat, gently stroking.

"Well, is anyone hungry?" John offered, and they all laughed together. The three rose from Nana's chair, and in a clump, no one of them willing to stray far from the others, they toddled into the kitchen for their supper. They ate their meal quietly, sitting or leaning, and there was no mention of how many, or with whom, or the boy and girl from uni.

)))))

_There you go._

_Thanks so much everyone for following! _

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	42. John, love'

_In which several different things happen_

_Lots of fun, I hope_

'_**John, love'**_

The morgue was filled with people, hospital officials, the police, Lestrade among them not to mention Donovan and Anderson. Then there were the victim's family members, tons of them, an MP of some note and well beloved. The place was actually getting hot and stuffy, not at all its usual cold sterile self and John was finding it hard to catch his breath. He was relieved to have Sherlock's text, beckoning him to the lab, where Molly and he were working, but as soon as he made to leave a large contingent of police including LeStrade, Donovan and Anderson saw him leaving, and followed him out of the morgue to the lab.

Sherlock and Molly were close to finishing an analysis on a fibre sample and needed to have Anderson nearby in case the analysis was inconclusive. Anderson would have to take the sample to the police labs for further testing. John took his place next to Sherlock, who was leaning over Molly, as the two of them worked on the sample that could show that the drowning of the victim had either been accidental or if there had been an interloper in the victim's bathroom. If there had been an interloper, the fibre would link the murder to two other deaths in recent weeks, which pointed to the likelihood of a serial killer.

"Damn, I need a pencil or – _damn it - John, love_!" Sherlock snapped his fingers and without looking up, he held his open hand to John.

"Yes, I've _got_ one here, I've got a _pencil_ here, _some_where! Somewhere for fuck's _sake_!" John tried to gloss over Sherlock's slip as best as he could, but Lestrade had heard, and Donovan was arching an eyebrow. Mercifully, no one else seemed to have heard, though there were plenty about that might have, if they had been listening carefully. John saw that Sherlock didn't seem to have noticed his slip, so involved was he in his investigation, his eyes riveted on his microscope as he continued to hold his hand out to John, waiting for the promised pencil. John looked at Molly as he located a mechanical pencil and placed it in Sherlock's hand. John wondered if Molly, too was so involved with the sample that she didn't notice, either – but, no- there was her look, a brief flash over Sherlock's shoulder to John, brief but alarmed, then her focus returned to the fibre sample. Lestrade stepped over to John and questioned him quietly in his ear.

"Hey, was it my imagination or did Sherlock just call you '_John, love_?'"

John was ready and he did the best double take he could at Lestrade, and then spoke.

"Oh, did he? Yeah, he may have. Ahaha. He's done that a couple of times. Does it to Molly, too. Watch out, he'll be calling you 'Greg, love,' if you're not too careful. Ahaha." John paused, then added, as offhandedly as he could manage, "I think – people who are close to him, you know?" John had carefully rehearsed the reaction and the line over a long period of time, weeks, no months. Probably from the moment Sherlock had first called him 'John, love' in bed. John had even practiced it in front of Molly and had taken her criticism. He'd brought it up with Sherlock, but his friend had only waved him off and scoffed at the idea of any kind of cover story.

"I'll _never_ call you that in public, for god's sake, I promise," he had said, waving a hand.

"But in a heated _moment_, when you're not paying _attention_, it won't be the _focus_ of your attention after all, and I'm just suggesting -."

"John, you're being ridiculous!"

"I'm just thinking we need to have a cover story in case _one_ of us does it. What if _I_ do it? I could easily do it – slip and call you - ."

Sherlock saw that John was trying to ameliorate the situation by claiming that he, too, could make a slip in public, but Sherlock knew John was concerned with him, and him alone making such a slip.

"Now, _that_ I must agree with. I will _surely_ call you 'John, love' long before _you_ ever call me 'Sherlock, love' in public. That's perfectly true." Sherlock had crossed his arms over his chest, and bitten his lips together, about as defiantly as he'd ever done before with John. (John had seen that Sherlock was reprimanding him for not being verbally affectionate with him, and he had had to prove his affection to him that very afternoon, but that's a whole other story.)

In the lab with Lestrade, John was confident in his acting skills, rudimentary though they were and now he was looking at Greg, gauging his reaction to Sherlock's slip up. Had it worked? John carefully watched the DI, and – yes. The idea of being called 'Greg, love,' in front of his subordinates, in front of anyone, in front of this crowd, for god's sake, wasn't sitting well with him at all, and his amusement fell away from his face. He actually took a step away from the work space where the lab equipment was being used, where Sherlock and Molly were working.

"Well for fuck's sake, I hope he calls me '_Greg_,' before he calls me '_Greg, love._'"

"Ahaha, ahahaha," John laughed with some anxiety but put in, "well, you never know – you know, with him."

"No, I s'pose not." Greg cocked his head and looked more carefully at John, however, and noted his anxiety. John recognized Greg's shrewd police stare and tried to let go, relax, but he couldn't, and he could feel that he may have made things worse. But there was nothing to be done, now, and he turned back to Sherlock and Molly who were once again immersed in their work.

Finally the analysis was complete.

"Inconclusive!" Sherlock shouted, chucking a slide across the room.

"All right, give me the rest of it," Anderson moved in and picked up the remainder of the fibres while John watched every muscle in Sherlock's face tense up with frustration and rage.

"Try not to muck it up this time, please," Sherlock muttered under his breath. He'd asked Molly if she could do the tests in Bart's lab, but she confessed that Bart's lacked the required equipment..

"Well. There it is, nothing for it." said Sherlock under his breath, then shouted. "When?! How long 'til these results are in?"

"About 6 hours." Anderson was already leaving the lab.

"Try to work quickly, please!" Sherlock was frustrated and snarling, his usual self when on a case like this, and he made to leave the room as soon as he'd gathered his few findings, John in his wake. Molly followed them to the door.

"I'll be home the usual time, love. Shall I expect you later? Quite late?"

Both Sherlock and John turned to Molly and answered her at the same time.

"If at _all_!"

"I'll call you, love!" John had added, seeing Lestrade notice the exchange. "But you should take care of yourself for supper, yeah?"

"All right. Please be careful. And just – please be careful!" Molly said things twice sometimes. It was her secret way of including Sherlock in the things she said to John at such times, with people around and she knew John passed along her messages like this to Sherlock when it was possible, when he thought Sherlock would be receptive. She didn't like having to be secret, but she did the best she could.

"Yes, _yes_! Obviously! I hadn't _thought_ of that. If we just have another look at the crime scene?" Sherlock looked to Lestrade.

"Be my guest, just don't give the lads and ladies too much trouble, will you, for god's sake?"

"I will charm with my ebullient, effulgent personality."

"Well, I wouldn't do that either, whatever it is, yeah? John? Just try to -."

"I will – I will – we won't take long."

Sherlock was involved with his phone then and turned to go. He didn't add anything further and John heaved a sigh of relief to himself as he pecked Molly's cheek and followed the dark coated figure whisking out of the lab, the hem of his coat fluttering behind him.

)))))

"If you give him enough clues, he can figure it out, Sherlock." John brought up Sherlock's verbal slip in the cab on the way back to the crime scene, where Sherlock wanted to check another area for the same fibre.

"Are you quite sure I said it at _all_, John? I think you're being paranoid."

"Sherlock, he _asked_ me if you said it. He said, "'did he call you _John, love_?'" I said "'He does that sometimes, better watch out or he'll call you _Greg, love_.'"

"Oh. Well, fine, I'll just call him '_Greg, love_', is that what you're suggesting?"

The two men looked at one another, actually considering the idea.

"Too obvious."

"Well, I quite agree, John, it's ridiculous."

"But we may have to resort to that as a back up – in the future, if this keeps -."

"Shut up, shut up!" Sherlock was back at his phone tracking down some ingredients in the dye used in the fibre samples. Then the cab deposited them at the crime scene, and the pair of them hopped out. All business, now, they strode toward the door of the building that seemed to be enveloped in yellow tape.

)))))

Donovan sidled up to Molly in the lab, collecting some paper work for the case.

"Bad luck about that result, huh? Now we have to wait for the police lab."

"Yeah, but it'll be done quickly enough, I'm sure." Molly smiled, distracted, trying to keep some notes in the type of order Sherlock had asked her for.

"Yeah, and so the day's almost done for you – That's a relief. Home to Baker Street."

"Yeah, home to Baker Street."

"221B Baker Street."

"Yeah."

"The famous 221B."

"Yeah, oh, no – Ahaha, that's my husband's _old_ address. When he lived with Sherlock." Molly looked at Donovan. "We live down the way a bit." Donovan, Molly noticed, was looking at her with a very funny look, a look that suggested she saw something that wasn't there at all.

"Yeah, you three like to keep close, huh?"

"Well, Sherlock and John, you know."

"Oh, no, I don't." Donovan smiled wickedly.

"I'm sorry? They – you know, they work together."

"Oh, yes, of course. Hmm. What's the address?" Donovan asked.

Molly paused, looking at Donovan, who was smiling but Molly was done smiling, now.

"Why do you ask? For my – home address?"

"Just curious. To see if you remembered it." Donovan removed her paper work, and made for the door.

"What on earth are you talking about?" Molly's full attention was on Sally now, and the woman continued smiling that smug smile at her as she backed out of the room, toward the door, continuing to watch Molly's reactions.

"I don't know. Just rubbish, probably. Right?"

"I - ?" Molly shook her head, not knowing what had hit her. Then Sally Donovan slipped out the door, and was gone.

_What the fuck was that all about?_ Molly thought to herself, a chill creeping up her spine. She quickly fired a text off to John.

_Spinach. Safeway. Luv you luv you. _

John responded quickly.

_Ok. Geez, spinach, are you sure? - J_

To which Molly responded.

_Yes, quite sure, you'll luv it. How's it going, btw? _

And John's response.

_Ok, talk later, luv. -J_

'_K – luv, bye.. _

'Spinach' and 'Safeway,' was Molly & John's code for a possible breach of secrecy with regard to the relationship, and signaled John (or Molly, depending on who was texting whom) to go to their apartment at day's end, rather than to 221B. John had tried to bring Sherlock up to speed on their little code system, but he had only scoffed at them, telling them no one would care, and if anyone found out, it wouldn't matter. But Donovan's reaction to Molly, and their brief and strange conversation left no doubt in Molly's mind that Donovan was still interested in damaging Sherlock for some reason. _Why? Why? Can't she just leave him be? _But Molly realized that the humiliation that Donovan and Anderson had had to swallow when Sherlock returned, vindicated, was probably too much to take. Molly knew that damage could easily be done to Sherlock's career again, and why not John's as well? Possibly even her own, if their relationship were to be found out by Sally Donovan. Why take chances?

At home, Molly glanced through the fridge and tossed out the rotten milk, and bits of desiccated fruit and take away that were left from the last time they'd been in the flat. It was late at night, and she had taken the opportunity with her two men gone, to tidy a bit. Mostly do some dusting. How horrid things could get even when you weren't using a place. She smiled at the flat as she worked, remembering her brief married life and how relatively sweetly and normally she and John were falling into a routine as the months wore on in their marriage. She remembered being desperate for Sherlock's return, but as time wore on, while she thought if Sherlock never came back, it would be cruel, horribly cruel, but with John, it might be bearable. But then Sherlock reappeared, he _reappeared_ and it was a miracle. An answered prayer, and it had only taken some weeks to convince John to approach Sherlock and suggest a 'sharing' arrangement. Molly's thoughts were interrupted with the sound of a key in the door.

"Hello, sweetheart? What's up?" John was in the flat with some take-away, his face concerned, his lips impossibly pursed. Molly explained the exchange she'd had with Donovan.

"Oh, good lord. Well, she is good, no matter how we may feel about her. We could have a real problem here, if she still wants to fuck us up."

"Did you make it clear to him that it's a real danger? I mean, John, they could have someone staked out watching the doors to the two flats right now. They could have cameras in here, easily."

"I did what I could. He assured me he'd go home, and come over later by the back way."

On cue, there was loud thud in the bedroom, and in a few moments Sherlock was in the kitchen with them.

"You really shouldn't leave the window open, Molly, particularly in the bedroom. Just anyone could appear." Sherlock threw up his hands to emphasize his little joke. "Now what on earth is going on, that I have to climb over fire escapes and rooftops like a monkey to get to you?" He was in high spirits, and smug, having solved the case hours before Anderson's tests on the fibre sample would be completed. John and Molly filled him in about Molly's conversation with Donovan. Sherlock sobered, but wasn't at all distraught.

"I haven't treated her very well, have I?" Sherlock said, uncharacteristically thoughtful about someone outside their little group. "Well, I suppose there are worse things than taking proper precautions. I've taken these out."

Sherlock pulled two small cameras out of his pocket.

"These were trained on our front door above Mrs. Hudson's door. There's a little -."

"Yes, that depression in the bricks -."

"Yes, one was there. And the _other_ was outside my bathroom window - whence I snuck out. But I got it before I left. What. The fuck?"

Sherlock had picked up some colourful language besides little items like 'John, love,' owing, most probably to his close association with John whose every other fucking word was 'fuck.' John quite liked it, but Molly looked askance at it. She endured it, however, because she took it as a sign of how well he and John were getting on.

"Ask Mycroft if any of this stuff is his, and how many other items there might be?"

"Ah, excellent suggestion, John. I have already texted him. On the roof. By light of the moon. Waiting for his reply, but I'm confident it's not Mycroft's people." His mood didn't seem to abate.

"What's so - fun for you? We could be found out. We could have some trouble, Sherlock, you know?" John was getting slightly irritated, and the confinement of the smaller flat, and it's unfamiliarity with the three of them together was somewhat grating to him as well. Molly could feel his ire mount.

"Yes, what is it, Sherlock? What aren't you telling us?" Molly, too felt there was something else to the story. But they were both wrong, and Sherlock's face fell.

"N-nothing – I - ." Sherlock looked at his two friends, and realized he would quite _like_ to be found out. He didn't want to keep it hidden, keep things a secret any more. Naturally, he wasn't going to go against what Molly and John wanted or needed, but for himself, if it were in the open, he would be not only fine with it, but quite relieved, quite – happy, for people to know. _Yes_, he thought, _I would be happy for people to know – that I'm happy. But this cannot be, because it would cause them so much pain and trouble. What have I been thinking?_

"No, nothing at all – I beg your pardon, I know it's - -it's important to both of you. But you must see, it's _not_ to me – it's quite the opposite – I mean -. I'm sorry. I wish – I wish we could - . "

"Oh, love," Molly saw what he meant. "He wants people to know, John. Do you see? It's hard on him."

Sherlock was abashed, hung his head, couldn't look John in the eye.

"Well, we _can't_, we _simply can't_, for god's sake. There's too much at stake."

"John, he _knows_ that, he's on a high from the case, can't you see that? He hasn't come back down."

"Oh," Sherlock didn't at all like Molly's tone, or her reference to him as if he weren't in the room at all. "Oh, not to worry, I've come down now. Excuse me." _On a high from the case? Really Molly, I would have expected slightly more from you. _Sherlock retraced his steps to the bedroom and swung out onto the fire escape. He half expected Molly to follow him, but she and John were now engaged in a loud discussion that was somewhat argumentative in tone. He didn't really care to listen to it. He imagined Molly scolding John for being insensitive to him, while John didn't think there was anything wrong with not wanting anyone to know about their relationship. Sherlock turned the volume of the confrontation down in his mind. He placed his concentration on the stars instead, what few were visible in the city, even at this time of night. _Just a little misunderstanding. _He thought to himself. _We're much better than this, we really are. Let them shout it out amongst themselves, I'll just hang here on the fire escape landing like a bat until the mêlée is done, and then – oh, who knows. Maybe go back to the flat? No. Too lonely. Too empty and lonely without them. _Sherlock felt his body shake slightly. _The cold? No. Tears. Weeping. What a cliché. It's disgusting, really. _He drew the back of his hand across his face, his nose and the gesture made him feel quite like a child again. He remembered many nights like this, when his parents and Mycroft fought with one another, and he'd creep off somewhere, still within earshot of the scuffle, but out of sight, and mostly out of mind, until the air cleared a bit and the dust settled. This was a little different. This mattered to him, but it was between John and Molly, more than anything to do with him. He sighed. Molly will have to explain by herself to John that Sherlock understood there was nothing to be done and that announcing to the world that the three of them were in a relationship was out of the question. He understood that it would always have to be kept a secret. _How can John think I'd want to announce it? Want it discovered? No, no, no. Little misunderstanding, that's all. _Yes, he understood it would always be a filthy little secret to be kept from the world, but Molly would have to explain that it would always make him a little bit sad.

"But _how_, Molly? How are we to show him we love him _more_?" John was trying to appease his wife on the issue of leaving Sherlock out of the relationship.

"It's attitudes like the one we've just displayed. He's kind of happy that we might be discovered. He'd never try to make it happen, he'd never reveal it, but we have to be more sensitive to the fact that it would make him happy, that's he's a little happy about it, even if he's not quite conscious of it."

"Jesus, if _he's_ not quite conscious of it, how can_ I_ be, for fuck's sake?"

"We have to do something – something to bring him closer, to help him know we're in earnest."

"Molly, in _earnest_?! I don't know how we can _do_ that. I mean, we – we stay over at his _every single fucking night _with rare exceptions."

"Yes."

"I have – Molly, love, I have rearranged my sexuality - seemingly by force of fucking will, for god's sake. A thing I didn't think was possible, before, and I'm a _physician_."

"I know, John, I - ."

"We, oh, my god, we literally _tie_ him to the fucking bed! What _more_? In what way can we be more clear about our _intentions_?"

"I know, but we need to -."

"We shag him until he _weeps_, until _I_ weep, _we_ weep. For god's sake, what more, what fucking more can we do – to – to prove our – our -?"

"Troth."

"Yes. Yes. Our - troth – our troth. Well."

"What?"

John paused in his shouting, and Molly breathed a sigh, grateful for the quiet even if it were to be momentary. He didn't often shout, he was a very quiet man, but when he got into it, it was _only_ shouting.

"I don't know," John said at a more acceptable volume level. "No. Probably too senti for him."

"What?"

"No, he'd never go for it. It's so twee."

"John Watson, you will tell me this instant what you - ."

"Rings."

"Oh. John!"

"You think?"

"Yes. Something – a little traditional."

"Yes. Something a little – normal. But not twee." John looked at his own ring, then at Molly's.

"No, no. Not twee." Molly looked at John's face. "John, our wedding rings are not twee."

"They might be - a little."

"Well, then, _let_ them be. I love mine." Molly smiled at her husband, and he took her hand, and looked at her two rings, rubbing them between his thumb and fingers. Remembering their normal life. Almost normal. Before Sherlock reappeared.

"Would you wear another one? What finger?"

"Doesn't matter that we wear them. Only that we have them. That we _offer_ one. But, yes, I would, I think I would."

"Yes. Yes, of course." John winked at his wife. "Make it a surprise?"

"Yes. Where is he? Did he go back to his?" Molly stepped into the bedroom and finding it empty, looked up the fire escape to a large inert form, dark against the moon.

"Werewolf? Vampire? Large flightless roosting creature?"

"Hmm, yes, that last one.." said Sherlock, looking down. "All done?"

"Yes, love, please come in, will you?"

"Hmm." Sherlock considered pointing out the slight he had perceived when Molly had observed aloud that he was still on a high from the case, but discarded the notion. _I won't be a trouble maker, after all that. _He thought. _No, I won't harbour a grudge, not against these people, not against these two. _He swung down from his perch overhanging the alley.

"We would have to come and get you, love. Or go to yours to stay."

"Too dangerous. Don't try it, unless it's an emergency, all right? Promise me?" Sherlock said as he clamoured down the wire-thin rungs.

"Because I'm a woman I can't climb fire escapes?"

"Because you're not an idiot and not used to doing such idiotic _things_ as climbing fire escapes. And other nonsense." Sherlock kissed her, and lowered himself into the bedroom again through the window. John was seated on the bed.

"Were you going back to yours?" Molly continued the conversation only for the sake of continuing the conversation.

"Too lonely at mine. Hey," Sherlock acknowledged John in the room.

"Sorry about that -," John began.

"That's – it's - ." Sherlock waved a hand.

"Little misunderstanding," John shrugged his apology.

"Yes, of course. Ah - sorry."

"For what? You didn't do anything."

"Neither did you. Little misunderstanding. As you say."

"All right, you two. I'm going to clean my teeth." Molly stepped to the bathroom, with a clean towel over her shoulder.

John looked at Sherlock seated on the still open window sill, and it made him nervous. He didn't like the look of him so close to another precipice. It was becoming a thing.

"Hey, can you, come into the room, properly, or shut the window, if you really need to sit there?"

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder and realized what John was looking at.

"Yes, of course," He rose from his perch and stepped into the room, hovering a little uncomfortably. Molly and John's room. He'd been in here before, of course, but had they ever made love here? Oh, once with Molly. But never John. Though he had slept over a number of times. _How delightful. _

"Do you want to – take off your coat?" John stood, and held out his hand, "I'll hang it up for you."

Sherlock slipped out of his coat and slung it on the chair.

"This is fine, John, love." He took the hand that was offered to him in his own, and drew the doctor to him. John resisted, turning away as he often did when the two were standing and Sherlock offered affection in this way. John could finally admit to himself, but no one else: it unsettled him that Sherlock was taller than he was. He felt weakened, unempowered, emasculated, yes, yes, _diminutive_. It didn't matter in bed, or in every day life. He was shorter than almost all men of his acquaintance. _But when he tries to – take me in his arms – as if I were - a woman – I'm not able to -_

"Oh – are you – cross with me? - ." Sherlock put his hand on his friend's shoulder, and the two men stood still for a moment. Then John turned back to Sherlock, and let him take him in his arms.

"Of course not, why would I be cross?"

"Because I'm so much taller than you are?" _What do you think you're doing? Is this stupid joke worth putting him off again?_

Sure enough, Sherlock felt John stiffen in his arms, and retreat.

"That's not - Ahaha. You're not that tall," John pulled away. "Come on, let go."

"Come on, no." Sherlock was mocking him a little, he knew. Would he take the joke, or would he get angry, he wondered. _I shouldn't tease him on this issue, what am I doing?_

"John, love you were right, I meant to say," Sherlock tried a different tack.

"W-what?" John stopped struggling for a moment, listening to the hardly-ever-pronounced words he'd just heard Sherlock speak.

"About me – saying, blurting out in public -."

"Oh. Yes. You see? We need, we need to put some -."

"Yes, safeguards."

"Yes." John felt Sherlock's hands stroking his flank and the back of his neck, then ruffling his hair.

"Wait," he said, "did you just say that to – to get me to let you hold me?"

"Well, I meant it, though. You were right."

John pulled firmly and definitively away from Sherlock, and moved to the dresser, where he pulled out pyjamas. A pair for Sherlock and one for himself. He threw Sherlock's to the bed.

"Master manipulator." John said.

Sherlock heaved a dramatic sigh, and then hung his head in frustration.

"John, love, I'm sorry. I don't _want_ to manipulate you. Will you please just let me _hold_ you? Standing up? Like the grown men we are? Of our different and utterly random and meaningless heights?. In the privacy of our - your bedroom. Will you please let me?"

"Oh, dear." Molly had stepped into the room in time to hear Sherlock's last speech. John froze at the dresser. _Give in. It will feel better than hurting anyone's feelings. It will feel much, much better. And tonight, _John thought, _when Donovan is watching us, for god's sake. Yes. We should stick together. Who knows how long we can – sustain this? How long can anyone? _

"Yes, of course." John breathed the words so quietly that only Molly heard him, as she was standing in the bathroom door, right next to the where John was. She nodded to Sherlock, briefly closing her eyes in relief.

"Thank you, John." Sherlock stepped up behind John. He leaned down nuzzling John's neck, putting his arms around him. "Thank you, John, love." Sherlock made little circles with his mouth against John's skin as John held the edge of the dresser, and Sherlock felt him tremble against him slightly. "John, love." Sherlock's palms were flat against the doctor's chest, now, smoothing down the front of his shirt, pulling the tails out of his waistband. "Love." Sherlock ran his hands up John's flanks, under his shirt, his fingernails, leaving a light trail.

"Yes, of course," John said more loudly, turning to Sherlock, slowly. He pressed his face into Sherlock's chest, and raised his arms, encircling Sherlock's neck. Sherlock was delighted, but taken completely by surprise. _This is submissive behavior, _Sherlock thought, _completely deferential. He's ready to take anything I give him. It's almost like a physical apology – for something. Surrender. _

"_John._" Sherlock avoided anything overtly sexual for now, though they'd come so far, so far. He held his friend in as soothing a way as he could, combing his fingers through his hair, stroking his neck, his arms, kissing his head, his temple, all the while purring his contentment. At length, he reached for the buttons on John's shirt. "May I?" he asked, and John only nodded, without lifting his head. Sherlock undressed him gently, unbuttoning his shirt, and peeling it away, lifting his t-shirt over his head, undoing his belt and trousers, smoothly slipping them over John's hips, and down his legs. He waited for John to toe off his shoes and step out of his clothing, then Sherlock lifted the trousers and pants from the floor, dropping them into the chair. He rose from the floor to see John's head still bowed, averted from him, submissive. _What's it all about? _Sherlock wondered. Then lifted the doctor's chin to face him.

"All right?" Sherlock asked.

"Perfectly." John smiled his open, trusting smile at him, and Sherlock felt the warmth of it spread through him.

"Bed?" Sherlock inclined his head to where Molly was already lying, watching the drama before her unfold.

"Mmm. Clean teeth?" John inclined his the other way.

Sherlock smiled and followed John into the bathroom who located a fresh toothbrush for Sherlock. They cleaned their teeth, grimacing foamily into the mirror together.

In the bedroom, John slipped into the middle, and took Molly in his arms, and Sherlock took his time undressing, quietly assessing what his people wanted, what they needed. While John had turned his back to the area left in the bed for Sherlock to sleep, Sherlock could tell that John was anticipating his getting into bed. _There it is, _he thought as he saw John's shy glance over his shoulder at Sherlock. _Waiting for me. Wanting me. _Molly seemed patient and game as ever. Sherlock slipped into bed and put his arms around John, reaching down to find his half hard erection, as he brushed John's shoulders with his lips, and the ragged stubble of his late night beard.

"Molly, do you mind if I – monopolize him a bit?" Sherlock asked as he slid down John's body, leaving a long wet mark with his tongue as he licked John from his shoulder to his waist. He pressed John's hips back against the mattress until he was lying on his back, and spread his knees open. John cooperated, breathing less steadily, but more rapidly as Sherlock lowered his head to tongue the tip of his cock. John reached a hand into Sherlock's hair, gently taking a fistful in his grasp.

"Not at all, love. John? All right?" Molly and Sherlock were in silent smiling communication with one another, John could see, but made no mention of it.

"Mmm," was all John managed and Molly slid down to Sherlock's level and the two of them gave one another their wicked smiles as they kissed, then tongued John's erection, and kissed some more. Sherlock held and directed John's cock between his and Molly's lips as they kissed and nipped at one another. The pair licked and sucked up and down John's shaft, getting sloppier and slipperier as they progressed in their game of kissing around John's cock, and they finally dissolved into giggles. John chuckled, but also warned them.

"Um, giggling around an erect prick is usually not the best thing to keep said prick erect."

"Hmmhmm, duly noted, love," said Sherlock, who winked at Molly. He sucked his middle finger, and reached between John's legs, locating his smaller puckered opening.

"Oh Jesus _Christ_," John arched his back at the contact as Sherlock pressed his finger past the tight ring of muscle, into the heat of John's body. Sherlock smiled at the way John's reactions to Sherlock's fingers inside him still contained notes of alarm and discomfort in them. He found it adorable, and was finished with admonishing John for broadcasting his fear. It was clearly now no longer fear, but pleasure, and Sherlock was determined to enjoy it. Sherlock felt John constrict hard against his finger, then relax somewhat, as the doctor was getting more and more used to Sherlock using his fingers like this. He felt John grip his fist in Sherlock's hair more tightly as he gently brushed John's sweet spot once or twice, gently pulsing deeply into him.

"Oh, sweet mother of -."

Molly and Sherlock didn't speak any more as they continued to kiss and suck John's shaft and balls. John lay back, a hand in Sherlock's hair, and one in Molly's as the pair worked on him. John imagined the mess he must look, his face a grimace, his knees bent and splayed wide apart. At the thought, he tried to spread them even wider. Then he felt Sherlock increase his pulsing somewhat, and John noticed his friend was starting to brush his prostate more and more frequently. He moved his hips, swivelling them, rocking them in time with Sherlock and Molly's mouths, with Sherlock's stroking into him as that hot prickly feeling started to spread from his back to his neck and face to his whole body. He felt a slight sweat come on.

"Oh, fuck, Molly, shit, shit, Molly, love, Sherlock, _Sher_lock -." John's recital went on for a bit more, and then was over as he repeated his favorite word for such purposes, 'fuck, fuck, fuck' and then finished. John stiffened and gave over to a series of spasms, hitting Molly and Sherlock each in the face with a rope of come. They were prepared for him, but were being careless, as they continued to kiss around John's cock. They licked each other's faces and then giggled, and abandoned John quite brusquely as Sherlock did nothing short of jumping Molly. He entered her quickly, her head and shoulders, leaning over the side of the mattress, her arms flailing, and pounded into her for several strokes as she shouted and moaned her approval. But then he lifted her up to a sitting position, kissing her gently.

"Do you want to - kiss John while I – from behind? Or what would you like, hmm?"

"Oh, yes, let's not leave him high and dry."

"Well, he's not dry." Sherlock kissed Molly affectionately, and she turned toward John, straddling his waist, offering her arse to Sherlock. He positioned himself between her legs, between John's legs, and stroked Molly's lovely slim hips reverently, then gripped her by the waist, and entered her gently but firmly. John was just coming back to himself as this was going on, and he watched Molly's face as Sherlock pressed into her. He watched her mouth open, her brow furrow as Sherlock first took possession of her. Then he saw her relax into the penetration, allowing it, merely, then he watched as she began to participate, thrusting herself back against Sherlock's oncoming movements, with more and more abandon. John saw that she wasn't really paying attention to him in the usual way, as she did when they made love. And he could see that her reactions to Sherlock were much different. He'd seen it before of course, but never so closely, never as if it were part of his own love making. He reached a hand to her cheek to stroke her, and she immediately turned to him smiling, kissing him, but her smiles, her kisses suddenly seemed faked, unnatural, in such contrast to her more feral behaviour. He watched as the smiled faded and her concentration on Sherlock's more animalistic thrusting returned to her features. John stroked her face again, and she looked at him with an animal look, blank, wild, needy. He leaned up, and forced his mouth against hers, tonguing her biting her and she responded fiercely, kissing him wildly, answering Sherlock's thrusts more wildly as well. John reached down her body, and gripped her backside, hard, his nails digging in, and then he felt Sherlock's hands on his own, clenching them hard as Sherlock began to lose control at last. It was only a few more strokes and Sherlock pitched forward against Molly's back, moaning his release in short bursts, pressing her down onto John. He collapsed on top of them both, flattening them together. John tried to repress his giggles, and succeeded for the most part, until Sherlock slowly slid off the pair. There were several long moments of heavy breathing before Sherlock spoke.

"Is any one physically injured?"

The three laughed, and Molly slid off to the other side of John. Sherlock turned to John, kissing him, now with a wildness, and abandon that John didn't expect.

"Did you see her? Did you see how Molly is? More closely?"

John vaguely resented this line of questioning, as if he'd never seen Molly before, as if he didn't know what Molly felt, or what she needed – _Wait – Is this it? Is this jealousy? This is jealousy. Getting angry at every little thing for nothing. Kiss him, you idiot. _

"Yes, I saw her. She's dazzling, isn't she?" John panted against Sherlock's throat, then reached up, bringing his mouth back to his, driving his tongue against his friend's, exploring his teeth, his palate. He clawed at his back a little in his eagerness to bring him closer, to feel Sherlock's skin flush against his own. But they were all quite spent, and were soon only petting one another gently. Then Sherlock and John reached for Molly and pulled her between their bodies, pressing her with kisses, petting her sucking her.

"We should have taken the opportunity to talk about Donovan."

"Buzz kill."

"Never mind. We will in the morning. Go to sleep."

"Love you."

"Love you both."

"Love."

)))))

_There you go_

_Might not be another one 'til Sunday - _

_Please let me hear from you! You know how it is - needy, woefully underpaid arts person desperate for stroking._


	43. Honeymoon's Over? I - 061613

_In which John and Molly have some quality time._

_In which we get some details about John's and Molly's coming together._

_Oblique treatment of how Molly tells John about Sherlock's faked jump._

_Sherlock tries to safeguard against any feelings of rivalry between him and his friend._

_**Honeymoon's Over?**_

Wednesday at Bart's. Molly waited at the usual spot where Sherlock's cab would drop him off and from where the two of them would make their way to a bench in the park nearby For the last few Wednesdays in a row, the two had done this, sharing a light lunch, usually of sandwiches, which one or the other of them would provide. Molly was waiting and watched as a cab pulled up in the usual place, but was confused to see John step out of the cab. Confusion turned into alarm, but she saw his face – smiling and happy. He waved his hand, brightly, then quickly frenetically, as though to ward off any alarm she might still have at seeing him there, instead of Sherlock: he was aware his presence in Sherlock's place might frighten her for a moment. He leaned into the car when he was confident Molly wasn't scared any more, brought out an enormous bouquet of red roses, two dozen by the look of it, and closed the door. The cab pulled out into to traffic, leaving John standing, not 10 feet from Molly. She ran to him, throwing her arms around him.

"Sorry to worry you - ." John began.

"Yes – for just a moment – I did think - "

"He's fine, he's fine, at home, you know. Sorry. But I - I wanted to surprise you even so."

"You did – you did that. Oh, John, these are for me?" Molly tried not to be too coy, but two dozen roses were hard to be believed.

"No one else but my girl."

Molly smiled, remembering how John had called her 'my girl,' a couple of times rather tentatively when they'd been courting, and more confidently after they'd married. She hadn't been at all sure if she liked the sound of it – the ownership – the diminutive nature of it. But hearing him say it now, she felt herself fall in love with John all over again.

"Yes, I'm yours, always your girl, John."

"Oh, good." John smiled, but his presence and now, his demeanour were giving Molly clues.

"Oh, John, what is it?."

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong." John looked into his wife's face and breathed deeply, as if to breath in the healing effect of her presence. _Healer? _He thought, thinking about what he was supposed to be, a doctor. _I've got nothing on her. She's pulled me back from the dead. _ He remembered how it was, how _he_ was, in the days just before she came to him with the news that Sherlock had faked the whole thing. He remembered holding the gun to his head. He remembered the taste of the cold metal when he'd put it in his mouth with the safety off. He remembered one afternoon getting into Bart's and climbing to the roof to stand where Sherlock had been standing, just before. He'd stood there, too. He'd thought. 'one small step out with each foot, that's all.' He'd stepped out with one foot. But he'd stepped back. And he'd managed one more time to get back to his smaller, darker, and in general more horrible new flat. Managed to eat something and managed not to shoot himself between one and three AM, when things were the worst. He was managing day to day in this manner until she came to his flat. _Was it that night? The night I got back from going up to Bart's roof?_ She'd come to his flat, made him walk with her at night to a secluded space near the river, away from CCTV cameras, made him follow her into a rare copse of bushes, made him listen to her story. Made him let her hold his head as he retched, throwing up what little he'd eaten for dinner, then made him let her hold him as he wept. She'd made him follow her back to hers. Made him tea, which he scarcely touched. Made him take off his shoes, then his jacket and his jumper, and finally made him lie on the sofa and drift off to sleep, his head and shoulders in her lap and in her arms, her hands gently carding through is hair, while she murmured his name and little words of comfort, 'it's all right,' and 'he's all right,' and 'you're ok.' She made him stay the night. She made him breakfast in the morning.

John caressed Molly's face with his finger tips, the wonder of her still fresh as they sat on this simple park bench under trees.

"I was dead without you. It wouldn't have taken much more time at all, you know?"

"Shh," she hushed him, a mother's hush. He'd told her of the taste of the gun metal and the visit to the hospital's roof. She smiled her best happy smile, trying to soothe those still raw feelings from a time not so long ago. He reached for her lips with his, kissing her tenderly, smiling as he did it – she felt his smiling lips on hers and smiled back.

"Do you – remember us? At all? Before – you know, before he came back?" John asked her.

"Of course I do. We were – we were well on our way to being – a normal couple."

"Yeah, we were. Remember dinner Stamford and his wife?"

"Yes. We were – normal. Whenever things seem crazy, or I wonder – you know, how we got here, I think, 'I've got him, I've got my John.' I used to think that, you remember? I used to say that."

"Yes, I remember."

"I still think it. You're – you're not just a rock, you're – John, you're an entire foundation."

John smiled, pressing the flowers into Molly's arms as he took the carrier bags she held, which, he supposed contained their lunch.

"Yes, almost normal. Why do you ask? Regrets?" Molly asked

"No, Molly. What? About _him_? About him being with us? None. God no."

"Ok," Molly smiled, "Me neither."

"Ok. Where do you two, usually - ?" John pointed up an incline to a bit of grass with trees, and Molly nodded.

"Yes, just up here." The two of them made for a grouping of trees, and a little bench where Sherlock and she normally took lunch on Wednesdays. They sat down, still smiling idiotically at one another, very much a newlywed couple. Then Molly set down her flowers, and handed things out, sandwiches and bottled water.

"Cheese sandwiches?" She said with a shrug.

"Perfect." John took his sandwich and unwrapped it, wondering how to begin. _Aloud, _he thought, _don't plot anything – let her hear you._

"Sherlock, actually suggested – ah - ."

"Oh, yes?" Molly had guessed that it was Sherlock who'd sent John to her today. She was surprised he hadn't come to her earlier, now that she thought of it. John finished a piece of his sandwhich, nodding, then continued.

"Yes, he – ah – that is – I – I had a _moment_, I should tell you - ."

"A moment?"

"Yes, love. When you two were having your – you know – relapse into your teens –."

"Yes, we were quite – ridiculous." Molly cringed, but secretly smiled at Sherlock's and her recent attempt to break her personal orgasm record for a 24 hour period in only seven hours.

"Not at all – it was – fun – to think about, during the day – But later, when I was picking up milk, before I got home that night, I thought – 'perhaps she'll prefer him – if he –' ."

"No, John. I can't choose. Between you."

"You know, it was a moment, like we all have. That's all. Naturally, he can guess – that is, deduce - things –you want, what you need."

"So can you. I couldn't choose."

"Mmm."

"John. Darling. I could never choose between you."

"I just – you know – I just wanted to – I want it to be in the open – between us. Among us all. I've already mentioned it to him. And then, today – he suggested -." John waved his hand, evoking the phrase 'and here we are.' He watched Molly's reaction to that bit of information, that Sherlock suggested John come in his stead.

"Um. The flowers were my idea," John quickly put in, smiling.

Molly shook her head, denying she'd thought anything else were the case and referred to the stems and the plastic that wrapped them with her fingers.

"Of course they were, my sweet love."

Molly recalled how attentive John had been when they'd first started dating and then sleeping together. The flowers, the calls, the texts, the cards. She'd never had such attention before. At first it was a little overwhelming, and if she were to tell the truth, it was a bit off-putting. Particularly as it seemed to her that it all might be a kind of 'thank you,' for her telling him about Sherlock being alive. She'd decided to have a talk with him and explained that it was just a bit much for her. She even questioned him, asking, 'Is it all to say 'thank you,' for – you know? Telling you?' She remembered his expression, full of pain and shock.

"No, Molly. It isn't to say 'thank you,' for – that. But thank you, by the way. I do appreciate it, in case it needed mentioning."

She'd felt a little ashamed to have embarrassed him in this way, but once he'd recovered, he was quite charming about it. He'd shrugged his shoulders and apologized, confessing that he'd felt a little different about her than other women he'd seen in the past couple years.

"It seems to me that we – share something, Molly. More than knowing him, more than losing him. Something else, too? Do you – know what I mean?"

Molly had smiled and said she wasn't sure. She lied, because she was fairly positive what it was they shared, but didn't want to frighten John off.

Molly knew that at least fifty percent of the men of her acquaintance would have called it off with her completely at that stage, but not John. They'd continued to see each other, and she was very impressed with his tenacity, without seeming to be at all desperate. Just certain. She thought she was able to see what Sherlock must have seen in John right away. Complete, unquestioning, quietly certain loyalty.

More importantly, they'd continued to mourn Sherlock's absence together, sometimes in silence, and sometimes they were able to talk about him as well. It was a relief for both of them to have someone to talk to about Sherlock. No one else was even remotely close to having the bond that they each shared with him. So, they were able to talk about him, but it wasn't always very easy. It was never casual conversation.

"Were you - in love with him?" John had asked at one point, a few weeks into their relationship.

"I – I think it was a crush, wasn't it? Those first years, just a crush? But later, later, when he - yes, I – I can't deny it – I did - I fell in love."

"Yes?" John seemed unconcerned with Molly's admission, accepting of it, not at all jealous as he held Molly's hand. He'd looked at her, but then seemed far away, staring off, as if into some great mountainous expanse, as though he might spot Sherlock on some distant horizon, though Molly's bookcase was all that was before him. They'd been at her flat having tea, curled up on her sofa. He'd been holding her hands. At that moment she'd felt his fingers, his whole body, in fact, poised to say something to her, but he was hesitating, hesitating, until finally, she couldn't stand it any longer.

"What is it?" she'd asked, gently pulling his hands toward her, trying to bring him back to her from that great distance he was staring into.

"I – I think I did, too. I – I fell in love." John dipped his head, but clearly said, "With him. In a way I - I can't at all explain."

"Yes. Yes, of course." She hadn't questioned it, John remembered. Hadn't voiced any logistical _queries_. She had just let it be, and John allowed himself to be soothed by her acceptance of his statement, her lack of prejudgment. But he remembered her eyes on him, she hadn't let the topic slip away, she continued further, deeper.

"And you _still_ love him." She'd said.

"Yes," he'd whispered, lowering his eyes, wondering where the fuck the fucking git was at that very moment, and then thinking how very dearly he would like to punch him the mouth. Then he'd looked in Molly's face, and saw it. "Oh. And so are _you_." he'd said.

"Yes," she'd whispered back with some fierceness but no hesitation. Their eyes had remained locked for what seemed like an age, and then their lips, their bodies crushed forward into one another seemingly at precisely the same moment. They grappled for one another's mouths and skin in a way they hadn't up to this moment, though they had made love a number of times already in their early days together. That night their lovemaking had taken on a new desperation, and somehow a sharper and more specific _purpose_.

"You still love him even though he's fucked you over." Molly whispered desperately in his ear as they sank from the sofa to the floor, her hands frantic at his belt.

"Yes," John hissed back to her, ripping her blouse open, "And so are you, even though he's pretty much fucked you over, too."

"Yes, John, _oh_, love."

Half in and half out of their clothes, John entered her rather roughly, but she only pulled him against her harder and deeper, arching into his touch, his movements.

"And you'd take him back, wouldn't you, if he came back? If he came back now?" Molly asked.

"Take him - ? What – Yes, yes, I'd be his friend, oh, god Molly - ." John stopped his thrusting for a moment, and looked into Molly's eyes, wild with excitement, wild with her secret. "And you – you'd take him back? If he came back now?"

Molly smiled, thursting her hips against John.

"Only if you come with me." Her face was an expression of obscene lust, and John wasn't sure what to do with her then, other than to shag her silly, which of course he did. Later, when they'd gotten up from the floor, and gone to Molly's bed, he wondered to himself what on earth she'd meant. _Only if you come with me?_

Their bond had deepened that night but their problem with crying in bed at Sherlock's absence had arisen. At first neither of them recognized that they were having the same problem. Each thought the other was having some sort of release of emotion that was perfectly appropriate to their being together. After a time, however, they were able to see that there was some problem between them, though they didn't know quite what. But they were pretty sure it had to do with Sherlock's absence.

John looked at Molly's expectant expression as they sat in the park, and tried to soothe her fears with his smile. But they both knew some work would have to be done on their relationship now.

"He said something else – ah – a little curious, Sherlock did."

"What love?"

Molly knitted her brow – What had Sherlock told, she wondered?

"Well, he said he – ah – worried sometimes that you're a little isolated from us. You – work full time. He's right – he and I see one another much more regularly. And you and I are – with my part time hours, and the odd shifts you cover sometimes. Sometimes –

"Yes, yes, John, love, you're right – I –I could - ."

"It's not your _fault_, for heaven's sake, love, I'm not saying - ."

"I could, maybe I could - ," Molly was desperate to find a solution to the problem, now, and simply, rather than go any deeper. Rather than delve into a topic that Sherlock may have brought up with John.

"Molly, wait – I want, _I _want to know you better, too. I mean, if anyone is to know you better or best, it's got to be me, hasn't it?"

"Ok."

"He said – Sherlock said – to wait. To wait for you to – want to tell me – things."

Molly looked away. So Sherlock had intimated in however limited a fashion at her past experiences, which she'd been keeping a secret. Or had he revealed some of the details surrounding John's and her marriage?

"Molly, love, are there – are there secrets? He – Sherlock says he doesn't know any details, but I – I don't know – I don't call him a liar, but perhaps he's – deduced some things he'd prefer for you to tell me yourself?"

Molly paused only a moment.

"That's an accurate assessment, John."

John blinked at Molly's tone. If he hadn't been looking at her mouth moving while she spoke, he could have sworn it had been Sherlock who'd said it.

"Oh, so there are – there are some – secrets? Ahaha." John was crestfallen.

"We'll all talk, John, soon, I promise."

"No, no, that's ok. When – when you're ready – to tell me – us." John paused a moment, then continued. "He said it might be hard – for you to talk about?"

Molly averted her eyes again. No for some reason it was too hard for her to tell her secrets to this man. _Why_? _He's so loving, so accepting. So grounding. Sherlock is, too._ _Why can't I tell John? No, don't keep him in the dark, talk to him, talk to him now, if you can. _

"I – I don't want - ." Molly tried to begin.

"Yes, love?" John's steel blue eyes were big and round, expectant. Molly continued. "I don't want to disappoint you." Molly blurted out.

John smiled, taking one of her hands in his.

"Molly," his smile together with his furrowed brow said all that he needed to say, but he tried to reassure her. "You can never disappoint me, love. You literally saved my life." _Love of my life._

"And I don't want to hurt you." Molly finished, and she steeled herself against the pain she knew she would see in his face, knew would be reflected back to her and cause her pain, too, twice the pain, knowing that she had been the cause.

John froze. _What's this? _ He thought. _She prefers him. She's leaving. No, she's just denied it, no reason to disbelieve her. Oh. Something in the past?_

"Love, how can I - ? If there's something that you feel you've done – in the past?" John looked at her and found confirmation in her averted gaze.

"Ah. In the past then? Molly, sweetheart, I promise you, unless you pack your bags, you won't hurt me. I want to know – I mean I want to help you with it – whatever you're going through, I'm ready to share it, if it's painful, I – I've no doubt that it must be – oh."

Molly gauged John's look and suspected he'd guessed part of things she was keeping, but he immediately masked his pain.

"Oh, love." John wrung her hand in his. "Whatever you need – however long you need – to take. But, won't it be much better, once we all get through it? Together?"

Molly saw that John was right. _Yes, the sooner the better. Get through this and get on with it. Yes. Sooner rather than later. _

John smiled through his pain, though he thought Molly's reactions had confirmed his suspicions that she may have been physically and sexually attacked in the past. _How could I not see? How did I miss it? Jesus Christ. It couldn't have happened while we were together, could it? Who? When? Later, later, wait for her, I must wait. _

"I think – you know, among the three of us, we'll be able to sort through it, yeah?"

Molly looked at the pain in John's eyes, even as he tried to reassure her. _Well, now I've hurt him. Now he's in pain because of me. _She wondered if she were worth it.

"Yes," John said simply.

"What?" Molly asked. "What do you mean by that?"

"Yes, you're worth it. Darling." John only smiled, pressing his hand on top of hers as it rested on her knee.

"Oh, love. Can you read my mind? John, John." Molly bit her lip.

"No, I don't read minds, I just know you. Don't ever doubt it, that you're worth it, hmm? Never," John took her in his arms before the first tear fell and Molly let him hold her while she sobbed. In all the times she'd met Sherlock on this bench she hadn't cried, nor had she felt so completely held up. _He grounds the two of us, _she thought of John. _We need him, the same as John and I need Sherlock. But – do they need me? _She frowned and considered the question for a moment with some alarm, but pushed the thought aside for future reference, determined to stay on task today. At length John located some paper napkins and Molly mopped up her face with them.

"Well," John said, drawing away from her at last, "That's a start, hmm? He – he was right. Obviously. Ahaha."

"Ahaha," said Molly.

John gathered up the papers from their lunch for the bin, and Molly picked up her flowers, burying her face in them. She looked at her husband.

"I'm going to Camden, now," John smiled and winked.

"Ah that little errand in Hatton Garden?"

"Yes. Green, white and blue."

"It's not white, exactly, it's opalescent, kind of a milky rainbow. Moonstone."

"Yes. Moonstone for Molly. Jade for me."

"And sapphire."

The married couple kissed one another with smiles on their lips as they thought of their little secret.

"You have that extra shift tonight, don't you?" John asked, as he rose from the bench.

"Mmm, that's right," Molly remembered she'd taken on part of a shift that evening for a friend. Luckily, it was only the first bit of the evening shift, not the later bit.

"Must you?"

"I promised," Molly said.

"Well, if you promised . . . But take a cab home, will you? Not the tube? I don't like the walk from the tube to the door at night for you." John smiled and kissed his wife.

"You," she began simply.

"Love, don't - you don't have to - ."

"You are the salt of the earth, John Watson. You – put it all in order for me, don't you? And then you make it all bearable. You do that for me, John."

"Just watching out for my girl."

"Oh, John," she said, threatening tears again through her smile, "You're irresistible."

Back in Bart's, after a couple hours and after about a dozen co-workers buzzed past her desk and cooed over her outrageous bouquet of roses, Molly found a moment to text Sherlock and was pleased to find that he was near his phone, and answering his texts promptly.

_-Why you little grass - M_

_ -Had to. Forgive me?- SH_

_ -Of course. You were right to tell him._

_ -Obviously. Everything ok?_

_ -Yeah. We're fine.. – more anon- What about our gf? _

_ -Nothing new. Any signs?_

_ -Nothing new– luv._

_ -Ok Luv. _

Sherlock, John and Molly were all being vigilant and proactive with respect to Donovan's prying and insinuating remarks. For texts, they determined the term 'gf' for 'girlfriend,' was both amusing and suitably ironic.

Mycroft had assured Sherlock that they'd had no cameras on the flat, so the three were relatively certain they had come from Sally. How to find out? John brought the cameras to Greg, and without needing to reveal a thing about Molly, Sherlock and John's relationship, Greg agreed to track them down unofficially, quietly without bringing anyone else in on it. Meanwhile, the three were in contact as to the whereabouts of Donovan and Anderson, reporting to one another whenever they spotted one or another or both of them, and what if anything they'd say.

Nothing new had cropped up in recent days, however, and the three were flummoxed as to what to do about it all.

For the time being, Molly and John continued to return to their small flat down the road in the evenings, and Sherlock would join them by the back way. But in the afternoons, John joined Sherlock at 221B at about 5 o'clock, to reconnoitre on cases. The notion was to show that the two held office hours together, and then, John would be seen to leave Sherlock's between 7:30 and 8:30, and return to his flat by way of the street. Sherlock found it all absurd and was determined that all this nonsense would end soon, however delightful it had become for him. Yes, he had to admit that it was thrilling to surge out of his bathroom window and climb the fire escape to the roof. To get to Molly and John he had to walk over the roofs of three buildings, make a rather dangerous three-foot jump over an alley, and then clamour down John and Molly's building on a very rickety, wirey set of steps to drop into their bedroom window. Sometimes he had come upon one or both of them half naked. Once he had been quite late, and his lovely people were already in bed and making love. _Oh, god. Completely delightful. And Molly loves it when I suddenly appear. Does John?. No, no, this cloak and dagger stuff must end. _Why? _Because it's my life, not a case. Because I will do as I please. Because no one holds me - or them - captive. _

When Sherlock sent his last text off to Molly, he smiled, shaking his head to himself. _Oh, she's a handful, _he thought as he walked through Regent's park at a brisk pace. _Yes, both of them, each a bit of a handful. Lucky I have two hands. And I? What am I like for them, I wonder? Ahaha! _

Spring was quickly changing into summer and Sherlock was able to appreciate the park's blossoms for their exuberant display without having to review their common names, followed by the Latin, as he usually did when presented with the opportunity to do so, a discipline he'd maintained since childhood. He also enjoyed the air today. Though still London's usual fare, the smell petrol wasn't as pervasive here, though he had to admit, he liked the bite of diesel in the air. But here, in the park once in a while he'd get a lungful of roses or lilacs. _What a beautiful day! Ahaha! _

Sherlock was gratified by Molly's phone call. He knew she partly expected him to tell John that she had something to tell him – and he hadn't expected her to be too cross with him for too long. Under different circumstances, Sherlock would have let her secret-keeping pass for a much longer time, but John's admission to feeling a bit of rivalry, concerned Sherlock very much. He was determined to keep the lines of communication among the three of them not only open but honest. He hoped John wouldn't be vexed with him for staying quiet as long as he had. He knew they'd have plenty of time to talk about it tonight.

Sherlock's reason for being in the park today was purely for the exercise. He despised exercise for its own sake, but appreciated its necessity. While John and he were taking on more and more cases lately, they were quite simple so far, without much leg work. Though Sherlock was sure it didn't show much, he could feel his legs and belly going a bit soft. _And it's all from this extended period of complete self indulgence. Though it has been a thorough delight._ He resolved to walk briskly through the park, running intermittently whenever he had the chance. He'd grab a low tree branch or bar of some scaffolding when the opportunity presented itself, and pulled himself up on it for as long as he could without becoming too conspicuous. He'd scale fences and gates whenever he thought he could get away with it and not scandalize the normal London citizenry. He was almost done with his circuit of the park and was coming upon the last leg of his walk. He would soon be home where John would probably be waiting for him.

_John._

Sherlock remembered that tonight was a late shift for Molly. He'd be alone with John for a good part of the evening – plenty of time for the two of them to chat about how the doctor's lunch had gone with Molly, and for them to iron out any problems they might have between them concerning the possibility that John thought Sherlock was harbouring secrets. _So childish – but I really can't bear it when he's cross with me. _Sherlock's feeling approached terror when he thought of any future misunderstandings that might arise between the three of them. He didn't want the couple to send him away. Or break up, and make him choose between them. He'd never be able to.

Sherlock cast his mind to the flat and the kitchen and how bad things had gotten recently. He'd gotten back up to speed with his usual experiments and both the flat and the kitchen were approaching critical mass in terms of disgusting. Sherlock wondered if there were room for his people to have breakfast, as he knew they did, while he sleep in, as he often did. Well they would have to make some room, if they wanted a chair, or a bit of the kitchen table. Yes, the honeymoon seemed to be over indeed. _Well. We'll see about that. Ahaha!_

They had all had a good laugh when Molly had farted in bed recently not bothering to hide the noise. It was surprisingly loud and both men had looked at one another in alarm, and then at Molly who was half hiding under the sheet, holding her hands over her mouth, her eyes dancing with mirth.

"Molly?" John asked, then laughed when he saw her expression.

"Uh-oh!" Molly had said, evoking the Telly Tubbies, which made John laugh harder, and Molly joined him. They looked at Sherlock who was still sitting up with a book, a look of horror on his face.

"Good lord, Molly. Did you – did you – _fart_?" He'd said.

Molly had dissolved into giggles which set John into new paroxysms of laughter. To hear Sherlock Holmes use vernacular in general, and this word in particular was particularly hilarious for the couple. Sherlock sat in bed regarding his friends with shock as they laughed. The longer he held his expression, the harder the pair laughed and Sherlock finally relented and broke into a grudging smile, shaking his head, and at last was able to chuckle along with his friends.

"All right. It's funny. Can you two get a hold of yourselves, now?"

"Honeymoon's over!" Molly had crooned, still laughing, and John started giggling again.

"All right, all right, hilarious. Can we please?" Sherlock gestured to his book, but the two just kept laughing. When Molly finally stopped, John would start again and when John stopped, Molly would start a new. Sherlock finally gave up trying to concentrate on his book, and scooped Molly into his arms, biting her shoulder and neck.

"Honeymoon's over, Molly? No more cunnilingus?" Sherlock chuckled in her ear, kissing her. Then he leaned over to John, who was still laughing, and still holding on to Molly, Sherlock kissed him, and raked his teeth across his chest.

"Honeymoon's over, John?" Sherlock had asked.

John had grazed his partner's face with his hand, then touched his lips with his finger tips, then brushed his mouth to Sherlock's face, whispering in his ear,

"No, love, not yet." John had said and bitten Sherlock's ear, and reached for a wrist restraint. John had smiled into his friend's face, and slowly, tenderly buckled the leather into place on Sherlock's wrist. Molly saw John's plan, and reached for another restraint on her side of the bed, and the two of them had Sherlock spread eagled and secured on the bed in a matter of moments, their hands and mouths all over him.

_What a lovely evening that was._ Sherlock thought to himself as he was finishing up his walk in the park. _But perhaps the sickeningly named honeymoon is over, in fact? _He realized he would wait until the end of the world for John and never complain again. If he had to wait forever, but could still remain in John's and Molly's company, he'd be content, he knew now. If John ever decided to give himself to Sherlock it would be an impossibly sweet moment that would complete the circle, the circuit of the three of them. It would be far in excess of Sherlock's current expectations for the triad relationship.

Sherlock breathed deeply and looked at the sky above Baker street as he thought of how he'd been so pushy with John about their physical life only weeks into the relationship. How could I have been so pigheaded? Well – evolution perhaps – And god, look at John. He'd had no expectation of a homosexual relationship with his best friend at first – _No, I'm sure of it. And even lovely Molly is now forced to unkeep her secrets. Naughty lovely Molly, but really, why keep secrets from John? Oh, of course, fear of judgment. Ridiculous._ John had opinions, of course, but he reserved his judgment when it was important to do so_. Lovely John. Oh, John when will you let me – ? I'll wait. Well worth it._

Half a mile left to 221B. Sherlock decided to sprint it and took the stairs two at a time when he was in the building. When he got to the top, huffing and puffing, there was John, at the desk, working on his laptop. Sherlock breathed in the familiar scent of the flat, beaming at John's familiar presence in the room, and except for Molly's absence, felt himself to be well and truly home.

John turned from his work toward the door, his face all welcome and gladness to have his friend home. Sherlock breathed a sign of relief. Perhaps the talk with Molly wasn't so harrowing for him, after all.

"Hey."

"Hey. How did lunch go? She texted me."

"Yes, of course – I – I – You were right. Secrets. Obviously."

"Well, yes. I hope, John, I hope you didn't think – that I - ."

John waved him off.

"Tell me if I'm wrong," John smiled, approaching his friend where he stood, crossed his arms across his chest and pursed his lips. "You intuited some things she was keeping to herself, and gently brought them up with her and suggested she tell me. She wouldn't, so you kept her secret. Then I mentioned this funny moment I had - worrying that she would prefer you in bed, and it worried you. You didn't want to – to keep anything from me, and you - told me. Close?"

Sherlock blinked in the blinding light of John's perfect analysis. _Is that it? No talk? We don't have to talk? He's sorted it all out for us perfectly already. How delightful._

"Excellent, Watson. Quite accurate."

"Well, thank you, Holmes, thank you very much."

"Very impressive."

"Hmm. Probably not that impressive. But you are, love. You're – you're a good friend, Sherlock, a very good friend. Thanks."

Sherlock reddened and looked away, but smiled and returned his gaze to the doctor.

"I hope – I hope I am, I mean – you, you're - ."

John stepped in front of his partner and smiled as he watched his friend grope for words, a rare occurrence in a day of the life of Sherlock Holmes. He stepped closer, and reached to Sherlock's arm, stroking him, then John put his arm gently around his friend's waist, drawing him closer. Sherlock could see John was experimenting, holding, touching him, as they stood close together. _Trying to get himself used to it, _Sherlock thought, _he works so hard, so hard at us. Perfectly delightful. _ Sherlock put his arms lightly around John's shoulders, allowing John to direct the embrace, hoping he would initiate more intimate contact, and it wasn't long before he did. John reached to Sherlock's throat tenderly tracing the lines of definition there, the jaw lines, the hollow of the throat. Sherlock was relaxed in his friend's arms when John quite surprised him leaning in and gently tonguing the hollow of Sherlock's throat. He did it once, then two times, leaving a quiet kiss after the second lick. Sherlock opened his eyes in time to see the doctor smile into his face, then step back from him, slowly descending to sit in his chair. John left his legs uncrossed, and his arms were relaxed on the arms of the chair.

"Do you - want to?" John asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Mmm, yes of course," Sherlock answered, licking his lips. _Do I need more of an invitation? _Sherlock wondered, as he took a tentative step toward John and Nana's chair.

"Oh," said, John, before Sherlock could take another step. "Can you do me a favour, first?"

"Oh, wh- what?" Sherlock asked.

"Take off your clothes."

)))))

_Oh, I have the rest of it all written! All for you! Needs editing._

_But I don't want to do any more monster chapters, and this one was going on a bit. _

_Plenty of Sherlolly in the offing, too. _

_Stay tuned my little darlings, more on Thursday! That's right, I said Thursday!_

_Thanks to all you favers and followers! You are my inspiration! _

_And to you lovely reviewers, you have my undying love and kisses! _

_The end is near, my little darlings, my little cabbages!_

_Ahaha!_


	44. Honeymoon's Over? II - 062313

_**Contains Johnlock**_

_In which John and Sherlock have some quality time_

_In which the men discuss Molly's birthday plans_

_Confessions, admissions, weaknesses, strengths revealed_

Previously in _**John's Interludes for Three**_:

_John reached to Sherlock's throat tenderly tracing the lines of definition there, the jaw lines, the hollow of the throat. Sherlock was relaxed in his friend's arms when John quite surprised him, leaning in and gently tonguing the hollow of Sherlock's throat. He did it once, then again, leaving a quiet kiss after the second lick. Sherlock opened his eyes in time to see the doctor smile into his face, then step back from him, slowly descending to sit in his chair. John left his legs uncrossed, and his arms were relaxed on the arms of the chair. _

"_Do you - want to?" John asked, arching an eyebrow. _

"_Mmm, yes of course," Sherlock answered, licking his lips. Should I wait for more of an invitation? Sherlock wondered, as he took a tentative step toward John and Nana's chair. _

"_Oh," said, John, before Sherlock could take another step. "Can you do me a favour, first?" _

"_Oh, wh- what?" Sherlock asked. _

"_Take off your clothes." _

_**Honeymoon's Over? II**_

Sherlock was a little self-satisfied to receive such a delightful request, and smiled though he tried to avert his gaze, and thus hide his smugness a bit. His body, meanwhile, swiftly responded physiologically, particularly as he watched the doctor's wickedly spreading grin. Sherlock felt his breath hitch involuntarily, his pulse quickened and there was that hot biting sensation at the back of his neck. _Delightful._ He knew both from the sensations that he was having, as well as from John's expression that he was turning a deep pink, but he couldn't suppress his own smile, as he reached for the buttons on his shirt.

"Don't make a show, please," John admonished watching Sherlock's expression. "You know, just relax and – let me see you. And, if you don't mind my saying, try not to be, you know, too smug." John couldn't keep the affection out of his voice and manner, however.

"Yes, aghm, of course," Sherlock said, pursing his lips together as he slipped his shirt off his shoulders, and threw it in his own chair. He toed his shoes off, then keeping his eyes on John, casually unhitched his belt, and undid his trousers. He slipped them off with his pants, reaching down to lift his feet out of them, then deposited the clothing in his chair. He reached down again and slipped off his socks, throwing them into the chair, as well. Finally he stood naked before John. His erection was completely hard by now, and bobbing. When he felt how hard he was Sherlock had a moment's embarrassment and couldn't look John in the eye, but he was able to quell it as well as his last vestige of smugness. Finally he smiled shyly at John, his hands at his sides, letting his friend look at him at his leisure. Sherlock stood innocently, only a small natural smile on his lips, waiting for John to finish looking at him and finally John met Sherlock's gaze.

"You're so lovely," John said very quietly, then more audibly, "Come on, love," and he reached a hand out to his friend, beckoning him.

Sherlock approached John as he usually did when they played the chair game, slowly. He lowered himself to face John, his hands resting on the arms of the chair, their noses quite close together, as he gently and slowly lowered his weight to John's thighs. _Oh, how delightful coming to him this way with nothing between my skin and his hands. Ah! _John's hands were at his waist, guiding Sherlock into place in his lap, but also, sliding up his torso, feeling him. _Oh!_ One of John's arms slid gently around Sherlock's shoulders. _God._ John's other hand lingered at his pecs, his nipples, then wandered to his throat. Sherlock pressed his face into the crook of John's neck as he usually did, brushing his lips against the skin. _Mmm! _John's hands were all over him, now, stroking him pressing him, pulling him closer. Sherlock let his head loll back against the chair and allowed John to have his fill of touching his skin.

"So lovely," John murmured, his lips at Sherlock's cheek.

Sherlock was wordless but couldn't hold back little gasps, sighs and notes of appreciation as John stroked and touched him. John was kissing him now, his chest and nipples, gently biting, and with a hand he gently stroked Sherlock's backside. At last John lowered one of Sherlock's feet down to the floor, effectively spreading his legs, allowing John to stroke his friend's length.

"_John_."

"Mmm. All right? Good?" John asked.

"Oh, god."

"Mmm, yeah." John continued slowly stroking Sherlock as he sat in his lap, lying back and Sherlock could feel there was no rush, no agenda – John only wanted to look at him and touch him for now and it was sheer heaven. Sherlock's head swam with pleasure, then steadied, then swam again and again as John continued moving his hands and mouth over his skin. _He takes such time with me, it's unutterably lovely, I must do this with Molly. I must get him to let me do it for him. Maybe he doesn't want it. Must find out, it's too good too – oh, god._

John couldn't get enough of looking and touching, nor could he get enough of the taste of his friend's skin. The male anatomy against his lips was still new and foreign for John, but quite illicit and thrilling too. It was thrilling for John to experience his friend in this way, equally thrilling to be allowed to do it. He marvelled at the flat muscular chest under his mouth, the hard nipples as he tongued them, bit them, slightly salty, exquisite. He silently celebrated the completely male presence in his lap, the dense musculature, the weight the _danger_. But he soon noticed Sherlock's hips begin to involuntarily thrust gently back and forth, wanting more attention.

"Ok, love," John breathed, "Just - just one or two things, and I'll take care of you, all right?"

"God, John, whatever you want." Sherlock whispered back.

"Mmm, thank you very much." John said very quietly, a sweet kiss on his friend's ear.

Sherlock felt John bring something into contact with his neck and realized he was putting the leather collar on him. _Where did that come from? He must have set it near the chair precisely in anticipation of this. Will he never stop surprising me?_ John watched Sherlock's eyes flutter open as he buckled the collar around Sherlock's elegantly sculptured neck. He smiled after a moment of recognition, and looked with mischief into John's eyes. John returned his smile.

"Not too tight? Safe word is 'biosphere.'"

"No, not at all, ok, biosphere, ok." Sherlock relaxed in John's arms as John kissed his friend's neck with more urgency, more abandon, spurred on perhaps by the addition of the collar.

"So lovely – I – I think I know - this need to – possess you like this – I think - I understand it better." Said John.

"Do you?" Sherlock couldn't care less, and was fairly sure at that moment that he had no idea himself why he needed John to hold him like this, to bind him, just as long as he did it.

"Yes, I think I – I want to somehow maintain control over you – in the face of – I mean – I think I feel this obligation – no, no, not obligation, but the inevitability of our – our - ."

"John."

"This obligation to let you, for us to - ."

"John, John, love, I want to hear all of this, I – I don't mean to interrupt, but right now, I wonder – if it might be better if we - ?"

"Oh, yes of course. Sorry. Yes, I'm quite self involved, sorry." John licked his palm and gently fisted Sherlock's erection, feeling as well as hearing his friend hiss his pleasure at the contact, enjoying Sherlock's muscles shuddering with pleasure. John kissed his friend's neck and cheek some more, then, only gently held him, letting go of his cock, relishing Sherlock's little whimper of disappointment at the loss of his touch.

"Stand up, now." John directed, and Sherlock managed to obey with a bit of a wobble.

"Yes, lovely, and put your hands behind your head. Yes, like that. Lovely, oh my god." John rose from the chair, now, and maintaining eye contact with his friend, he undressed before Sherlock, flinging his own clothes into his chair. When he was done he approached Sherlock and gently took the front metal loop of the collar in his fingers, pulling his friend's face to his own level. John kissed him thoroughly and wetly, one hand on the collar, the other gently brushing up and down Sherlock's flank, then taking his cock in his hand again. John pulled away from the kiss at length.

"Ok, come on," John led Sherlock into the bathroom. Sherlock immediately noticed that his cuffs were on the rim of the sink, and John picked them up.

"I just wanted to – revisit this again - you were so – so lovely that time. And I wanted – I wanted to see if – Well – Is it all right?"

Sherlock put his wrists out for John to buckle on the restraints a smile on his lips. The look of slightly crazed debauchery that Sherlock had noticed in John's expression when they'd played this game before was gone, and only his lovely gently friend was with him in the bathroom tonight. Sherlock tried not to be disappointed. _Time, time, these things take time, _he thought to himself. John clipped the cuffs together and then clipped the cuffs to Sherlock's collar as he had before. He stood back and looked at Sherlock bound again, naked before him.

"Yes, I think I understand it, now. A little better. Come, love," John put his hands on Sherlock's hips, breathing in as his friend hissed in his pleasure at the return of his touch. John gently turned Sherlock to the mirror, and Sherlock was again confronted with the image of himself, naked, uncomfortably bound his hands at his throat. Again it was a little alarming, but also like last time, there were John's hands at his hips, and now those same hands were rubbing up along his torso, and now, they were pinching his nipples, and now they were scraping his skin along his flanks with their nails. _Delicious._

"Oh, god." Sherlock breathed quietly, taking in all that John was giving him. He felt John's hands guiding him to bend at the waist until his wrists were against the sink, his neck awkwardly attached by the collar. Just like last time, John stood behind him, looking at Sherlock's face in the mirror, stroking his partner's hips, then the doctor nudged Sherlock's knees apart, widening his stance. Sherlock was impressed at how potentially creepy the whole scene was, but John was so careful and loving with him, it was only lovely and good. Sherlock closed his eyes taking in the feeling of John's palms running up and down his back, of his fingers digging into his hips, of his fingernails tracing light tracks across his flanks, of his lips and tongue licking him, kissing the small of his back.

Sherlock had closed his eyes to take in all the lovely contact he was getting from John, when he felt John move away from him. He snapped his eyes open and saw John reach for a tube of lubricant that was handily available on the sink, and put a small amount on his fingers. Just the sight of John doing this, while Sherlock stood in this vulnerable position put Sherlock into a sweat. He felt John press a finger against his puckered hole and enter him gently, but gently or not, the burn was unmistakable, tantalizing, agonizing. _Delightful._ John added another finger, and gently continued to open him, stretch him, then a third finger, gently, carefully getting him ready. But the doctor didn't seem to be hurried, or particularly urgent. He was taking his time, slowly, slowly, enjoying the contact, as if for its own sake. _But does he mean to have me here? On the bed? Does he even have an erection?_ Sherlock couldn't keep his mind quiet as he wondered what John meant to do with him.

"John love, I don't mean to – proscribe what you will do, but if you don't shag me here on the sink like this, I – I will be rather - disappointed."

"Ahaha. Really? Yes, you're very lovely like this, and I can see you and you - "

"Yes, and I can see _you_." Sherlock's voice was wet and gravely as he pulsed his hips against John's hand. "Please, John."

John smiled into the mirror as he continued to get Sherlock ready, then he pressed his cock against Sherlock's inner thigh – it was hard and there was a bit of wetness as John thrust against his leg. _Ah! There you are, _thought Sherlock.

"I – I don't think I'm - tall enough, though, love," John said.

"What?"

"I'm, I'm too short, here – to – to - ."

Sherlock immediately bent his knees to what he thought would be an appropriate level for the doctor.

"Mmm," said John, his fingers deep inside his friend, "That's about right, but – can you hold – that?"

"Please, _please_ don't - don't tease me, John?"

"Ok," John smiled, and reached for a condom, also handily available near the sink. He put it on swiftly, and used more lubricant. Finally he pressed into Sherlock, a small guttural cry escaping him as he did.

John stopped as Sherlock's tight ring of muscle constricted around the tip of his cock. But he felt Sherlock quickly relax, and John leaned against Sherlock's hips, able to sink into him, deeper and deeper. John heard and felt the moan in his friend's torso as Sherlock moaned the whole way. When John's cock was fully seated inside Sherlock, John paused a moment, pressing his face into Sherlock's back, his arms tight around him, trembling against him.

"Oh, god, John, _John_, look at me." Sherlock was staring in the mirror at John behind him. John locked eyes in the mirror with Sherlock as he started to move, appreciating the mixture of panic and pleasure building in his friend's features.

"Oh, love," John was on the brink of losing control already, and Sherlock could feel it, felt his friend's fingers painfully digging into his hips, his waist, holding himself back.

"It's all right, John, go ahead, move the way you want to - ." Sherlock thrust back against John's hips, but John still held on to some shred of reserve, avoiding thrusting against Sherlock too hard.

"I – I don't want – to hurt - ."

"You're not going to hurt me, I promise, please, move the way you feel – go ahead." Sherlock thrust back harder against his friend, until John finally couldn't hold back any more. Deep guttural sounds were emanating from the doctor as he thrust harder and deeper and faster into Sherlock than he'd ever done before. He reached up Sherlock's back to his hair, taking a fistful of his dark curls in his hand, pulling his head back a bit.

"So lovely." John's voice was low and strained.

The position was quite awkward for Sherlock, but so exciting he could barely contain himself as he, too, was losing control quickly, thrusting back against John.

"Fuck, Sherlock, I'm close – I - ."

"Ok – it's ok -." Was all Sherlock could manage as his friend pounded into him.

John's litany of curses and Sherlock's and Molly's names was exceedingly short as his body became abruptly taut and he shook hard against Sherlock, holding his hips against him as his orgasm racked him, then gently ebbed out of him. He sank onto Sherlock's back, and Sherlock held his position, only straightening his knees, as he waited for John to come back to himself a bit.

"Oh, god," John was stroking Sherlock's back again, kissing him. Finally, he directed Sherlock to stand up. John smiled as he turned Sherlock to him, loving how shattered and worked up he was, his face red, his erection rock hard, his hair wet with sweat and unruly.

"Come, on, let's get you to bed." John took Sherlock's collar firmly in his fingers and led him to the bedroom, where he directed him to the edge of the bed.

"Hands and knees." John directed and Sherlock obeyed, clamouring onto the bed on all fours. John knelt on the bed beside Sherlock and took one of his wrists, gently drawing his arm back to the corresponding ankle restraint, forcing his shoulder to the mattress. John clipped the cuff to the ankle restraint.

"All right?" John asked.

"Yes, yes," Sherlock's body was trembling, shuddering as he wondered what on earth John had in mind now. John knelt at Sherlock's other side, and brought his other wrist back to clip it to his other ankle restraint. Sherlock was kneeling on the bed, now, his shoulders and head pressed into the mattress. It was exceedingly awkward and he was completely exposed, but he felt completely liberated to be so on display for John. Sherlock put his head to the side to breath.

"All right?" John asked again, stroking his hair and neck, his back, "I know it's awkward, but I think you'll like this. Just a few more minutes, all right?"

"Yes, John."

"Ok, good," John knelt behind Sherlock, now, pressing his knees apart wider and wider still. When he was satisfied he looked at Sherlock's cleft, the angrily red puckered opening, which he'd just been abusing in the bathroom. He smiled at the tremor Sherlock's skin displayed as he rand his finger tips over his flank and hips, his backside. _So lovely, so obedient to me. Why on earth is it so important? So alluring? _John wondered, then pushed the thought away. John leaned down to lap his tongue between his friend's arse cheeks. _Oh for god's sake. _Sherlock thought. He licked at Sherlock in wide long licks at first, adding little kisses and bites back and forth across his skin as he tongued and kissed his cleft. Sherlock hissed loudly, then moaned softly, then more and more freely as John continued. John licked deeper between his cheeks, his tongue lapping against his tightened ring of muscle, hitting it over and over, then kissing and tonguing his opening exclusively, then pressing his tongue inside.

Sherlock pressed his face into the sheet and let the sobs come. He didn't know quite what it meant. It had been the same the first time John had done this, but why exactly? He found his mind couldn't quite focus, and he let go, let his mind focus on sensation alone, let the sobs, the tears flow freely.

Suddenly John's tongue drew away from him, and was replaced by a gently probing finger, then two, gently thrusting. John explored for a moment and then - .

"Oh, _god!" _Sherlock gasped when John hit his sweet spot.

"Ah, ahaha, there you are, love. All right." John gently swirled his fingers around Sherlock's prostate, gently hitting him, then thrusting, missing him, then coming back again, gently, gently teasing.

"I think I can make you come without touching you, love, would you like that?" John asked, making another gentle pass at Sherlock's sweet spot.

"Oh, god – John – please, I need, I need - ."

"What do you need, love? My mouth? Will you ask for it?"

"Yes, please, I need – I want your mouth -."

"Mmm, of course – you want me to - . . .?"

"On me, please, John put your mouth on me, s- suck me, please?"

"Of course I will," John smiled as he reached down and gently unclipped Sherlock's wrists from his ankles.

"Stretch out on your side." John directed, stroking Sherlock's back, as his friend did as he was directed, stretching out on the bed with a sigh, leaning to one side, his body visible trembling, as he presumably held back his orgasm. John sank down beside him to take Sherlock's tip in his mouth, then as much of his length as he could handle, his fingers still inside the heat of Sherlock's body. John continued teasing and exploring with his fingers at the same time he casually licked and sucked at his friend's cock and Sherlock came without much prompting, or noise, but his spasms were extraordinarily prolonged, John thought. When they finally subsided, John gently pushed Sherlock to his back. He watched him breath as he recovered from his climax. He was weak but relaxed and was that a smile - just the hint of one on his lips? John gently stroked his friend's face, his neck, until Sherlock opened his eyes.

"So good, John."

"Mmm, good."

"John – I wonder, can you – ah - ?"

"Hmm?" At first John pretended not to know what Sherlock wanted next, though he had intuited it the last time the three of them were in bed together. He leaned to kiss his friend as he spoke softly in his ear. "Yes, love, I think I know what you need, now." John arranged Sherlock's wrists to clip them together again, then brought them above his friend's head, clipping them to the rope at the center of the headboard. When Sherlock felt the restraints clipped and secured, he heaved a deep sigh of contentment, and John smiled. The doctor quickly secured each of Sherlock ankles to the bed as well, then returned to kiss Sherlock's chest and neck again, draping himself across his friend, putting his full weight on him.

"Is that good?" John asked.

Sherlock breathed deeply, completely relaxed, almost completely at peace.

"How – how did you - ?"

"How did I know? What you need - in bed? Ahaha. Relax, now. You can let go, hmm?" As John gently kissed his friend's cheek, nuzzling his neck, he gently slid one hand down Sherlock's abdomen, between his legs to cup his genitals in his hand in a gentle protective gesture. John heard Sherlock sigh with pleasure at the touch. The two men relaxed in the comfort and safety that their melded bodies gave to each of them in such abundance. Sherlock was able to let go completely, wholly letting John take care of him, and John happily did this office.

However much their lovemaking seemed to be a reversal of their day time relationship, it was also an extension and manifestation of it. John continued to serve Sherlock, protecting him, keeping him near him and safe, and Sherlock continued to depend upon John, continued to be the center of attention. Each man had analyzed their growing physical relationship in terms like these, but stopped after a point. Understanding it wasn't necessary, when their coming together like this was so fulfilling for each of them. They lay together this way for some time, Sherlock sighing his pleasure and contentment, John murmuring little love words and sounds like 'we love you,' and 'can't do without you,' and 'never let you go.' After a time, they were quiet, just breathing together, relaxed and happy.

"Why do you think you cry, love? When I – you know –?" John asked

"John, sweetheart, It's called rimming."

"All right, now, you've called me '_sweetheart_.' I – ok – never mind - I know – ok. When I – rim you."

"Hmmhmm. Yes, – that was quite ridiculous, as usual. I – aghm – I think because – well, when you did it - the first time, I was quite unprepared, and it was so – intimate – and no one – no one - had ever - ."

"No? No one?"

"No, John. It's – it's –." Sherlock spoke very quietly. _Is he embarrassed? _John wondered. _I thought that was __**my**__ department. _Sherlock continued, barely a whisper. "It's very - moving – for me."

"Ah," John continued stroking Sherlock with his hands, with his mouth. He leaned up with another question. "Does – Molly ever do it - with you?"

"Um, no, actually. You?"

"Well, no. I've done for her, but she – she - . Well – when I do it, she doesn't seem especially keen. And then she's done it a few times for me, but -."

"And you – you quite like it, don't you?" Sherlock smiled, nuzzling John's cheek with his mouth, as he was close enough.

"Well." John wouldn't say any more, and Sherlock filed it away for future things to do to and for John.

"She may be self conscious about – cleanliness, perhaps?" Sherlock offered. "We'll talk to her."

"No, no, that's – "

"John."

"That's not nec - ."

"John, love. That's – that kind of avoidance - I don't know if –It, it worries me sometimes. Both of you -."

"Yes, of course," John conceded the point, fairly hanging his head, if one were able to do so in the horizontal position in which John found himself.

Sherlock arched against his restraints, stretching his muscles, pressing against John, pressing his mouth against his friend's hair, then he relaxed back into the sheets.

"Are you all right?" John asked.

"Yes, yes, it's so good, John. But, honestly, the pair of you. I thought _I_ was meant to be the problem child."

John smiled into Sherlock's skin where he was pressing his mouth, then he pressed his tongue against him, tasting him, taking a few licks relishing the salt and the sweat.

"I think we're each a bit – we're all – a bit of trouble, or - I don't know?" John trailed off, and returned to licking Sherlock's neck, which was making his friend squirm in the most delicious fashion. After some time teasing his partner, John desisted, relaxing along side his friend, his arm and a leg across him.

"John, love, you wanted to say - before - ?"

"Oh, yes," John remembered, but wasn't sure how to proceed. "Oh, I don't know."

"Talk to me, hmm? Please?" Sherlock encouraged him.

"Mmm. Just – thinking that perhaps with the restraints - I'm – trying to preserve a sense of control – in the face of – our– you know – when we – When _you_ – oh god, - when you – you are – inside me."

Sherlock froze in John's embrace, and John felt it. Sherlock had quite given up on John, and had determined to wait forever if he had to, and had decided that it would be fine that way. He only wanted to remain in John and Molly's comfortable embrace forever, and if there was a price for this, he'd pay anything.

"Wait, love, are you saying it's a question of 'when,' and not 'if?;"

"What? Yes, of course it is," John assured him.

"Unclip me John."

"What? Don't you want -."

"Please let me go, now, I – I have to - touch you – please."

"Wait, what are you going to - ?"

"Please, John, I'm not going to attack you, please undo the clips."

"No, of course not, but – " John unclipped Sherlock's wrists and leaned down to undo one of the ankle restraints, as Sherlock did the other. As soon as he was free, Sherlock swiftly swept John up in his arms, rolling over and pinning the doctor to the bed, his body on top of him, immobilizing him, a hand on John's face.

"I – I didn't – realize – I thought – I –thought -."

John recovered from being flung to his back, and circled Sherlock in his arms holding him close, squeezing him hard.

"You mean you didn't get the memo? Ahaha. There wasn't one – But, it's never been a question for me – not since I – that is not since we -."

Sherlock chuckled. "Such fair play, John, you're astounding. I hope you know – I don't – re_quire_ - ."

"Well – I - ."

Sherlock waited for it, for what he knew would come. _He's really going to say it now, he's going to say it now and he's going to mean it. Dear god, how delightful._

"I want to, love." John whispered, finally.

Sherlock set his teeth into the skin of John's shoulder, pressing gently, not biting.

"Mmm, lovely, John. Please, please _tell_ me what you want? Can you tell it to me – a little – in words?"

"I – I want to. I want you to – to - ."

"Yes?"

"I want to feel – you on top of me, like this."

"Yes, John?" Sherlock thrust his hips against John, pushing John down into the mattress.

"I want to – feel – you. I want to feel your – you – against me – pushing me – like this, pushing against me.."

"Mmm, what else, love?" Sherlock was rubbing his face against John's, then up and down his throat.

"I – I – you know." John was breathing harder, excited, nervous.

"John, John, love, please -."

"I want you to – be – oh god." John put a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes. His face was hot, his back was hot, the room was hot, there was no air.

"Hmmhmm. You can _tell_ me, love, they're only words."

"Yes, I – I want you to – I want to feel you –"

"Mmm?"

"Inside me." John managed to whisper the words against Sherlock's jaw.

"_Ah_."

"I want to feel you inside me, I want to feel you all the way inside me, then –I – I want you to move against me, on me – I – I know it will - burn – I know it will be – it will be so – so – so good – to have you – that way. To let you have me – that way."

"Oh, god, John, love." Sherlock arms and legs seemed to turn into jam, he was so suddenly moved by this man.

John felt Sherlock collapse slightly in his arms, and involuntarily pulled him closer.

"All right?"

"Yes, yes, I – Well, John." Sherlock leaned up on an elbow, hovering with his face close to John's. "You never stop surprising me."

The two men relaxed in one another's arms silently for some time, petting gently, swirling finger tips across pecs, gently scratching the surface of the skin, gently kneading muscle.

"You know what she wants for her birthday?" John asked at length.

"Oh, my god."

"Yes, I know, every day."

"No, John, it's not just every day – it's every _hour_. She texts me _constantly_."

"Yeah, I know, me too. She wants to go to that beach - ." John began.

"Yes, I know, where she and her father -."

" - she and her father flew the kite – on her birthday when she was -."

"Yes, yes, when she was twelve, oh my god. Twenty years ago. And she wants to fly a kite again, as she did back then." Sherlock finished.

"Mmm." John thought of other family visits to the area that he and Molly had made alone, Sherlock demurring invitation after invitation "We must both go, we can't just - -just she and I – we can't -."

"Of course I'll go, John. I won't miss her birthday. I promise."

"It will only be two nights."

"Two nights?!"

"Yes, Sherlock, two nights, come on."

"Oh for god's sake."

"I have the directions and hotel reservations."

"Hotel? How will that - ?"

"I have a suite of two rooms."

"Ah, of course." Sherlock didn't want to be a burden to his people, but he didn't like being separated. It grated at him, things like this, the separate room in a suite, though he'd be sleeping with them. Separate flats, though they were with him every night. _Well, what else can we do? _

"Will you rent the jeep again?" Sherlock smiled at that memory, not so long ago. A time when John was very distant, very much off limits.

"I think something more comfortable, hmm?"

"Yes, of course," Sherlock chuckled against John's skin. "You wouldn't - let me, then."

"Wouldn't let you what?"

"Wouldn't let me – do anything, really. Don't you remember?"

"Mmm, yes of course. Sorry," John pressed his lips to Sherlock's cheek, then to his mouth, his tongue gently touching. Sherlock waited. John was initiating intimacy between them more and more but it seemed to Sherlock that there was no way he could ever get used to it, it always would be somehow so wonderfully novel. John noticed Sherlock's hesitation and smiled, chuckling.

"Waiting for me?" John kissed him again with a little more fire, a little more tongue, a little more wet. "Poor you, still waiting?"

"Mmm. It's all right. It's become – well – it's quite delicious." Sherlock smiled, as John kissed him again, and then again. Then they were relaxed again, gently petting. John looked at the clock in Sherlock's bedroom.

"Molly will be home in half an hour. I don't like her getting home to an empty flat."

"So much for office hours."

"Ahaha."

They dressed quickly, standing in front of their chairs, where their clothing had been discarded. Sherlock was putting his shoes on, as John slung his bag over his shoulder.

"I'll open the window as soon as I get there, ok?" John called over his shoulder, but Sherlock didn't like his rush.

"Hey?" Sherlock called, not able to keep a tone of abandonment out of his voice.

John pursed his lips before he turned. He knew that tone. He knew what he would see in Sherlock's face when he turned, and there it was. The same expression, he remembered. It was astounding how much the same it was from women to men. The furrowed eyebrows, the slightly parted lips, the confusion. Sherlock clearly felt John's leave taking to be somewhat too abrupt. John suppressed his smile as much as he could and carefully lowered his bag to the ground. _Don't tease, it won't be fair, he's never been here before. _John stepped back to his friend where he was buttoning up his shirt. John smiled.

"I'm going to see you again in _ten minutes_. In our _bedroom_." John put his hands around Sherlock's waist, pulling him closer. Sherlock let him, but saw the expression in the doctor's face and quickly deduced it. Sherlock blushed, then, vividly, and he knew John saw it.

"It's ok - ." John started.

"I know – I know, it's – hmmhmm, you've seen this before, haven't you? This - this attitude? This – ah, I suppose – this disappointment - as you left some – hmmhmm – love nest? In - dozens - of women?" Sherlock looked closer into John's face, putting aside his own embarrassment. John turned his head and pursed his lips, trying to hide his smile. "Ah, more than dozens? Scores? Oh, good lord, John? _Hundreds_?"

"No, not hundreds." John said, shaking his head as if that number were so absurd. He was still smiling, but embarrassed as well.

"I see that you will have absolutely no call in the future to bring up _my_ smugness," Sherlock smiled, the fingers of one hand stroking through John's hair, his other resting lightly on the doctor's shoulder. "All right, not hundreds. But - ." The detective lifted John's chin, looking into his eyes. "More than a hundred, however. Am I correct?"

John was silent but still smiling.

"Very impressive, love. But no – uh – gentlemen?"

John looked straight into Sherlock's eyes, his smile fading, the steel of his eyes becoming sharp and serious.

"Yeah, but just the one – the exception to the rule. An exceptional human being."

Sherlock's breath hitched slightly, but he managed to keep his smile.

"Mmm, very pretty, Captain, thank you." Sherlock and John were quite for a few moments, holding one another, then Sherlock released John. "All right, sorry to keep you – it's just that - ."

"Don't be ridiculous - ." John turned to pick up his bag.

"It's just that the flat is so terribly – terribly – empty when you or Molly leave – I just - ." Sherlock stopped, unable to believe what he'd just said, then hurriedly added "Get home, now, get home to Molly, yes? I'll see you there."

"Sherlock - ." John was blinking his eyes at the depth of pain in Sherlock's inadvertent and sudden admission.

"Please, go, it's all right, I'll see you in a few minutes."

John hesitated, but it was true – it would be only ten minutes at the most, usually only five before Sherlock was dropping into their bedroom from the fire escape after they'd left 221B.

"Ok, ten minutes, but Sherlock - ."

"I'll probably beat you there," Sherlock threw his coat on, and fixed his scarf around his neck, whisking away from John to the bathroom. John paused a moment watching Sherlock stride away from him, but he was unwilling to have his partner beat him to the flat with the window to the bedrooms till closed. John turned off a lamp and left the flat, trotting down the stairs at a good clip. _He's still so alone with it all, for god's sake, he can't even say things like that without being embarrassed. I suppose we help him a little, but he still feels so all alone. Molly's right. Oh, he's a handful. But Molly helps me with him. And he helps me with her, and they have one another to deal with me. It's – it's quite perfect. Ahaha. _

John trotted home, almost jogging the whole quarter mile, not wanting to leave Sherlock out on the fire escape looking in through a locked window, not wanting Molly to come home to an empty flat.

oooooooOOOoooooooOOOoooooooOOOoooooooOOOooooooo

_And there we go_

_Two or three more chapters after this. _

_I'm thinking two, really, but it could turn into three._

_After that, I will continue to write bits that will remain_

_in the realm of __**John's Interludes for Three.**_

_These stories will be posted as separate stories._

_They will be much more sporadically posted, time wise._

_Sooo, I think if you want the email updates on these, you may want to favorite me as an author, right? _

_Well, I leave it to you – I can imagine you might be sick of this._

_But I'll tell you what:_

_I'm not sick of you: You, my lovely readers have made every moment a complete wonder._

_I feel as though, because you like my story enough to come back again and again, I feel I must know you somehow._

_And you must know me._

_And we have things in common, lots of things, I reckon._

_Is that possible?_

_And it makes me want to write you tender love letters. _

_Yes. _

_I may have to write you some tender love letters, my little darlings, my little squash blossoms. _

_Next update – I'm thinking Sunday again, ok? _

_Love, love, love you all! _


	45. Honeymoon's Over? III 062713

_Ahaha, my little darlings, here's another one._

_ALMOST DONE!_

_One or two more instalments after this._

_(Hey, sorry, that idea of 5 minutes from 221B to John and Molly's either by street or 'back way,' is ridiculous. They'll need a half hour. _

_Toooooo lazy to update the last chapter, however. Maybe laterz)_

Previously in _**John's Interludes for Three**_:

"_All right, sorry to keep you – it's just that - ."_

"_Don't be ridiculous - ." John turned to pick up his bag._

"_It's just that the flat is so terribly – terribly – empty when you or Molly leave – I just - ." Sherlock stopped, unable to believe what he'd just said, then hurriedly added "Get home, now, get home to Molly, yes? I'll see you there." _

"_Sherlock - ." John was blinking his eyes at the depth of pain in Sherlock's inadvertent and sudden admission._

"_Please, go, it's all right, I'll see you in a few minutes." _

_John hesitated, but it was true – it would be only ten minutes at the most, usually only five before Sherlock was dropping into their bedroom from the fire escape after they'd left 221B._

"_Ok, ten minutes, but Sherlock - ." _

"_I'll probably beat you there," Sherlock threw his coat on, and fixed his scarf around his neck, whisking away from John to the bathroom. John paused a moment watching Sherlock stride away from him, but he was unwilling to have his partner beat him to the flat with the window to the bedrooms till closed. John turned off a lamp and left the flat, trotting down the stairs at a good clip. He's still so alone with it all, for god's sake, he can't even say things like that without being embarrassed. I suppose we help him a little, but he still feels so all alone. Molly's right. Oh, he's a handful. But Molly helps me with him. And he helps me with her, and they have one another to deal with me. It's – it's quite perfect. Ahaha. _

_John trotted home, almost jogging the whole quarter mile, not wanting to leave Sherlock out on the fire escape looking in through a locked window, not wanting Molly to come home to an empty flat. _

_**Honeymoon's Over? III**_

Sherlock opened the bathroom window and hiked himself onto the small sill, sitting on it, then spun himself around, folding his legs up, and then unfolding them out the window. His feet located the fairly sturdy seeming bit of pipe he used in order to get a foothold, and grabbing the pipe higher up, he swung out of the building, and quickly grabbed the hand rail of the adjoining building's fire escape. The section of fire escape handrail that he'd been grabbing during this time of visiting Molly and John's flat by the 'back way,' had become loose and made a creaky complaint as he used it to hoist himself onto the steps of the fire escape, and climbed to the top of the building. _The last time, I swear,_ he thought to himself. _I love it, but it must end tonight. It's not only dangerous, it's apologetic. It's – it's – it borders on embarrassment. And I'm not embarrassed, not apologetic – I – no, tonight I swear to god, John and Molly will have to come to see how ridiculous this is. _

He managed to pull himself up onto the roof from the fire escape, and dusted himself off a bit. Now he could look at London.

Usually he was in a rush to get to Molly and John, but tonight the bit of sky line the roof afforded was particularly captivating, and Sherlock paused to take it in, only regretting that he didn't have a Gauloise to light up. The sky was quite clear, and the sunset was a blood red, spilling over the tops of the buildings to the west of 221B. He only paused a few moments, though, for the longer he stood, he knew the less light he would have to make his little journey and it was a bit dangerous, after all. He started his walk across the few buildings that would bring him to John and Molly's flat.

Several buildings were quite close together, and required only a slight hop, or an awkwardly wide step to get from one to the next. But the last separation between buildings, the last one before John and Molly's building, was a three foot jump. _Oh, perhaps it's a little less than that_, Sherlock thought as he approached his last hurdle. He sized it up. _Hmm, yes, two and three quarters_, he saw. He'd jumped it easily every time for the past few weeks. There was never a problem. He gauged it carefully again, then backed up for the running start he usually took and jumped it. This time he misjudged the distance, however, in the beautiful but treacherous gathering darkness of twilight. His left foot, the one he'd lead with, touched down as usual, but he caught the top of his right instep on the little rise at the edge of the wall of the second building, and he tripped, his landing onto John and Molly's roof a fumbled disaster.. He fell, a stumbling kind of fall, legs pumping hard, trying to stay under him finally loosing the battle. He pitched forward and was laid flat out, catching himself a bit with his hands. He lay on his face assessing the damage and realized he was fairly unscathed, but noticed he'd hit his face on some kind of vent that was sticking out of the slanted roof. He picked himself up and accusingly peered over his shoulder to the bit of raised wall he'd tripped on and in that moment, he glimpsed the possibility he might have fallen three stories into the alley. He stepped over to the edge of the roof and looked over, a chilling reminder of another time he'd looked over the edge of a building.. He glimpsed John's guilt and agony. He glimpsed Molly's as well. He imagined being deprived of either of them because of such a stupid and wholly unnecessary stunt as this. _Last time. Last time. This is the last. _

He looked at his hands, seeing that he'd scraped them rather badly on the roof's surface, as well as whatever dirt there was there, it was too dark to see properly now, but he was fairly sure there was some light glinting off something in his palms. _Is that glass?_ He wondered, as he looked at his hands. _How did any glass get up here, and further, how did it get broken? Ah! _Yes, a bit of glass, he realized as he tried to brush his hands off. From here it was easy, though. He approached the shaky fire escape with a bit of weariness, now, though it was only a few more steps to Molly's and John's waiting window. The grit and glass still in his palms made things a little more tricky than usual and he gingerly fingered the railing, carefully, carefully clamouring down the rickety laddered metal construction. He saw that the window he usually entered was open and he breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn't beaten John or Molly to the flat, as he lowered himself into the room.

"There you are. Come here to me, love," Molly was in his arms, but pulled away quickly, as he turned fully toward her. "What's happened to your _face_?"

"My face?" Sherlock asked.

"You've a nasty scrape, it's bleeding."

"Oh, I took a little tumble up there. It's nothing, I think I have some glass in my hands, though, that's really, that's more - ."

"Oh, god, look at this. Darling what on earth?" Molly tutted. "John's in the bath, but he won't mind, come on." She helped him out of his coat, and Molly knocked on the bathroom.

"Must we?" asked Sherlock, "He'll be angry with me."

"For what?"

"Well – I – I've been – that is, there's a bit of a jump I take. That's how I stumbled."

"Oh, god. Look, just tell him you tripped - ."

"Hmm."

"Just tell him – Well, I'll leave it to you, but you'll have to let me clean it, your hands and your face." Molly knocked on the door, and opened it, sticking her head in.

"He's got a scratch, love, can we come in?"

"What's happened? Ten minutes I leave him – come in, come in, what is it?"

Molly conducted Sherlock into the bathroom where the men exchanged 'heys.' John made to get out of the tub.

"No, no, no, love, stay and finish, yes? I've got this, doctor, all right? He's fine, just a bit of a trip and a scrape."

"Sherlock, you're right, no more of this, we – it's not at all worth you're safety."

John settled back down into the tub, but remained attentive as Molly disinfected Sherlock's hands and face.

"What did you knock your face on? I didn't realize it was unsafe, Sherlock. Why didn't you tell me?" John said.

"Well, it has been rather exciting, coming in this way, catching you in the middle of things. Quite charming, hmm?" Sherlock winked at John, and pressed a kiss into Molly's hair as she worked at cleaning and dressing his hands.

"Oh," John blushed, rubbing his hand on his face, the water in the bath subtly lapping at the tub's walls as he moved his hand. He remembered two nights in particular that Sherlock had come in through the bedroom window when he and Molly had been inflagrante. They were making love quite vocally in bed and had been unaware of Sherlock for some long minutes before their friend made himself known in the room by actually applauding when the two of them were spent.

"Yes," Molly smiled wickedly into Sherlock's eyes, "Quite charming indeed." She loved it when Sherlock surprised them. "I'll be sad when you stop."

"I'll just have to find new ways to surprise you," Sherlock adjusted his tone to his velvety bedroom voice, and turned his attention to John, whose blush was only just beginning to abate. "That's a lovely shade, John, suits you. It's quite - alluring for you to be shy still, after - the time we've been together."

John surged to a standing position in the bath, frankly exposing his toned naked body to his wife and friend. Both Molly and Sherlock paused as they watched the water cascade down John's well muscled body. Despite his half hard erection, he managed to remain quite casual as he reached for a towel without taking his eyes off his wife and friend, flashing his smiled back and forth between the two.

"Not too shy, I hope." John said with confidence but without arrogance.

"Oh my god," Molly and Sherlock each breathed quietly, looking at John, then they snapped their attention back to one another as they realized they'd said it at the same time, and giggled to one another as John towelled off. He was at their side in a moment.

"Let me see, no offense, Molly, I just want to see, hmm?" John pulled Sherlock to face him, and clinically looked at his partner's face and the scrape he'd just sustained on the roof. "We'll have this side of your face in shreds before we're done with you, hmm?" John remembered slugging his friend in the face, then the cut when he'd gone into the Thames, now this. "Nice job, Molly, looks good and clean. Bit of gauze? Might scar a bit."

"Yes, love, here," she said as she handed John a piece of gauze with some adhesive tape. "Oh, it won't be too noticeable, I hope."

"Doesn't matter. As long as you're both here – to patch me up?" Sherlock's voice was unexpectedly plaintiff, and as John applied the dressing to Sherlock's face, the doctor and Molly exchanged a brief glance.

_Oh, they have a secret for me! _Sherlock deduced from the gravity of the couple's silent communication, which he easily spotted. _They're keeping something from me that they will reveal, and it's, it's, it's to be delightful! Some secret surprise designed to – to – to – What? Something to do with my pathetic need of them. My pathetic loneliness when they're away. What what what? I'll have to wait. Oh, god, I adore them. _

John was focused on Sherlock's face again, his hand still on his jaw, but was now more affectionately involved than clinically. The doctor smiled, stroking his friend's chin with the pad of his thumb.

"I'm sorry – I – I don't care if they know – about us – I - ." John couldn't resist and reached up to brush his lips against his friend's, lightly. "God, you might have broken something, you might have – you might have fallen - ?"

"Nonesense. Just a bit of a tumble." Sherlock lightly touched John's throat with his finger tips, trying to reassure him. He sighed as Molly moved between the two men, and wrapped herself around John, her lips lightly brushing his collarbone, as she pushed his robe away, exposing his skin. Sherlock put his other arm around her, pressing his lips into her hair as the three stood closely together in the tiny bathroom of John and Molly's flat. They held each other quietly as they kissed and petted one another murmuring softly, whispering.

"I like standing up with you –." Molly whispered. "No one has the middle, no one's on the outside."

The two men murmured their assent, and then the three were wordless for some few moments as they continued their gentle petting and holding.

"What about Anderson and Donovan?" Molly asked at length.

"Mmm. Doesn't matter. We'll go back to our usual routine at Sherlock's. Let them try." John said.

"I fear I haven't applied myself fully to the problem," Sherlock admitted. "I will – do so, now. I'm confident we can come up with something to do about it. Don't worry, hmm?"

"But not tonight, yes?" John said, gently prompting his wife and friend to move out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, and moved in a clump toward the bed.

Molly and John slid into bed John naked, and Molly in her dressing gown, and Sherlock stood, slowly undressing as his lovely people kissed and petted one another before him. He'd undone his shirt, and left it hanging on his shoulders when John pushed Molly's dressing gown down to her waist, exposing her lovely breasts for him to suck. Molly was sighing and cooing to her husband rather prettily, and Sherlock purred to hear her, though he was still only standing, watching. Sherlock stepped closer to the bed, and pulled their duvet out of his line of view, exposing the pair to his hungry gaze. John's erection was already at full attention. Sherlock slipped his shirt off, and placed it on a chair.

John untied Molly's dressing gown, and pushed it out of his way as he worked his way down her body, kissing her abdomen, her navel, the cleft of her sex. She vocalized more loudly as John's tongue danced between her legs, teasing her, waiting a few more moments, a few more moments before venturing deeper inside. John had pushed Molly's legs open, and was now kneeling between her legs, his own backside high and exposed, near the edge of the mattress and Sherlock approached quietly and placed a hand on the small of John's back..

"Ah," John raised his head.

"Shh, please John, as you were, hmm? No cause for alarm, see? Trousers still on?" Sherlock smiled reassuringly at his friend as he stroked the doctor's backside, kneading the muscles under the skin. John reddened, and took Sherlock's meaning.

"Oh," said John as he bit his lip, "Ok." And he returned his attentions to Molly's sex.

Sherlock gently caressed John's hips. _Oh, _ he thought, _not 'if,' but 'when,' How lovely. Only to wait. I can do it. _He rubbed his palms up John's back to his shoulders, gripping his friend there with some strength, but allowing the doctor the ability to continue to move his neck and shoulders as he continued to taste Molly. Sherlock smiled at Molly, who looked up at him, briefly, her eyes glazed and darkened, her world quite in a fog.

"Lovely, Molly. John." He murmured as he continued to caress and rub John's hips and back, lowering his head now to kiss and lick John's back and flank, biting gently here and there. He could feel John's reaction to the touch of his mouth on him. The doctor's muscles tensed under Sherlock's hands, the skin rippled. Sherlock placed a trail of tiny kisses from the small of John's back to his back side, then at his cleft.

"Ah," John's slight exclamation was muffled as it was directed against Molly's wet skin.

Sherlock pressed his tongue deeper into John's cleft, then reaching down, pressed John's knees wider apart. He pressed the John's cheeks apart and lapped at John's puckered hole, lingering there, moving slowly, relishing John's reactions of surprise and pleasure.

"Ah, god," John said almost indiscernibly as he moaned against Molly's sex.

Finally Sherlock pressed his tongue into John as far as he could manage and fucked him with his tongue.

"Fuck," John's word was just about understandable.

Sherlock kept his hands busy, kneading John's muscles, his legs, his backside, scratching gently with his nails, all the while fucking John with his tongue.

"Oh, god, John, love," Molly was more vocal, now, and Sherlock peeked at her for a moment to watch her writhe against John's face, her abdominal muscles churning a wave into her body as she pressed herself against John, pulsing against him again and again.

Sherlock returned his attention to John, kissing him and tonguing him for a few more minutes, then he sucked two of his fingers and replaced his tongue with them, pressing deep into the heat of John's body.

"Oh, god," John breathed into Molly's sex, muffled and wet.

Sherlock leaned down and continued to tongue John around his hole, up and down his cleft, and then concentrated on finding his special place.

"Ah!"

"Yes, hello." Sherlock had located John's prostate. He spoke to John softly, so as not to break the mood, but loudly enough to be heard, he hoped. " John, love, you've asked me a couple of times, if I'd like to come by just having you touch me, so I must surmise that you'd like that done for you, hmm?"

"Mmph." Was all John could manage.

"Yes, that's what I thought." Sherlock said no more, but watched as Molly came closer to her finish. Sherlock brushed against John's sweet spot with more and more frequency the closer Molly came.

"I'm close, John, Sherlock," Molly said, and Sherlock leant down to tongue John's skin some more as he continued to stroke into him, brushing against the prostate with every push. Molly came like a train, moaning loudly, almost shouting, her legs wrapped around John's shoulders, her hands gripping his hair as she ground her hips against his mouth. John continued to grip Molly's hips, as the litany of swearing began and continued for a rather prolonged moment as he pushed and bucked against Sherlock's hands and mouth. He finally stiffened and shook, splashing his finish onto the bedsheet. His knees shook as he finally let himself collapse down onto Molly, then roll away to one side. Heavy breathing and quiet followed for some minutes as man and wife recovered from the oblivion of their crises. John opened his eyes at length but didn't at once notice where Sherlock had gone.

"Sherlock, love?" He called softly.

"Ah waid?" Sherlock asked softly, leaning in the doorway as he cleaned his teeth.

"Sherlock, love," Molly breathed, reaching her hand into the air.

"Oh, god, Sherlock, you've – you've - ." John didn't know quite how describe what Sherlock had just done.

"Hmmhmm," Sherlock turned back into the bathroom, and finished with his teeth. He washed his face, then, and returned to the bedroom with a towel which he placed on the wet spot. He slid into bed next to Molly, kissing her, reaching for John, as well. With Molly in the middle, the three returned to their gentle petting of only thirty or forty minutes before. Petting, kissing, murmuring, little bites, little licks until one by one they each dropped off to sleep.

ooooooooooOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOoooooo oooooo

"Next _week_?" Sherlock played at being surprised and offended.

"Yes, next week, love," Molly said, panicked, as John got back into bed from using the loo.

"Yes, Sherlock, next week." John joined in, surprised that he had to remind his friend about the plans for Molly's birthday trip.

"But, for god's sake, for two whole nights. Is it quite necessary, Molly?"

"Sherlock, I _told_ you - ." John warned.

"John, I'm just teasing her, of course I know it's next week. Of course I know it's two nights. Don't worry, Molly love, I'm coming, too."

"Oh, good." Molly sighed, and settled against Sherlock's chest, then reached behind her to draw John closer to her and John budged in.

"And John, you've done all your – errands?" Molly asked.

"Yes, love, the car is all in place and – we're alllll set. No worries."

Sherlock could read between the lines of Molly and John's conversation and easily understood that there had been some secret errand. _What on earth have they gotten up to? _He thought. _They mean to surprise me with something – and on Molly's birthday. Very clever. Don't they know with whom they are dealing? _He smiled to himself.

"Yes," John said, leaning across Molly to speak to Sherlock. "We know you're deducing away, but you don't _know_ do you? Ahaha?"

"No. But I will. Soon enough. I imagine. No?"

"Yes, love," Molly hushed, petting his chest. "Don't try _too_ hard to guess, though. It will spoil your surprise."

Sherlock blinked in surprise. _Don't try too hard? To guess? _Who did she think she was talking to? But he realized in the same moment that he didn't want to spoil his surprise. His mind floated backward in time. Christmases and birthdays long, long past. He'd always deduced, he'd always either guessed or discovered through snooping what gifts he would receive. It was almost as though it had become his job. But this was different. _She's 's delicious not knowing. I'll_ try. _I'll try – not to try – too hard. _

"Yes, love, don't try too hard, hmm?" John reached across Molly and combed his fingers through Sherlock's curls.

"We love you Sherlock." Molly yawned toward the end of her words.

"Yes, love, we love you."

_Oh! _Sherlock thought. _No, no, that's – -well – it would be so twee._

ooooooooooOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOoooooo oooooo

_One or two chapters left after this._

_Hmm, it might take two, after all, but maybe not!_

_Thanks to alllll of you who have chimed in and read this crazy fic of mine!_

_But I still want to hear from you!_

_No matter how late you might feel you've come to the party, it's still on,_

_and I'd love to have your reaction(s)!_

_Ok, next chapter for Sunday! (I hope!) _

_Oh, I meant to tell ya! _

_I entered the world of tumblr._

_I don't know how it works._

_But I've been reposting some images that randomly and vaguely illustrate this fic_

_and Jollock (Or Josherlolly) in general. _

_It's under the same username at _

_Hope you like it! _

_It's NOT for under 18, and it's VERY NSFW._

_Might be dangerous._


	46. Did I Surprise You? 071013

Hey, there, my little dumplings. I adore you.

I hope you like it.

Previously in John's Interludes for Three

_Sherlock could read between the lines of Molly and John's conversation and easily understood that there had been some secret errand. What on earth have they gotten up to? He thought. They mean to surprise me with something – and on Molly's birthday. Very clever. Don't they know with whom they are dealing? He smiled to himself. _

"_Yes," John said, leaning across Molly to speak to Sherlock. "We know you're deducing away, but you don't __**know**__ do you? Ahaha?" _

"_No. But I will. Soon enough. I imagine. No?" _

"_Yes, love," Molly hushed, petting his chest. "Don't try too hard to guess, though. It will spoil your surprise."_

_Sherlock blinked in surprise. Don't try too hard? To guess? Who did she think she was talking to? But he realized in the same moment that he didn't want to spoil his surprise. His mind floated backward in time. Christmases and birthdays long, long past. He'd always deduced, he'd always either guessed or discovered through snooping what gifts he would receive. It was almost as though it had become his job. But this was different. She's 's delicious not knowing. I'll _try_. I'll try – _not_ to try – too hard. _

"_Yes, love, don't try too hard, hmm?" John reached across Molly and combed his fingers through Sherlock's curls. _

"_We love you Sherlock." Molly yawned toward the end of her words. _

"_Yes, love, we love you." _

_Oh! Sherlock thought. No, no, that's – -well – it would be so twee._

))))))))

_**Did I Surprise You?**_

Mycroft is being nicer

A run

A bath

Johnlock

Sherlolly

Molljohn/Hoopson?/Johnolly? (Good lord!)

Jollock

Mycroft had insisted on meeting with Sherlock over some dry as dust family business matters the week before Molly's birthday holiday, and Sherlock had consented, so here they were, in Mycroft's offices. In July. No air. Stifling hot. Sherlock did it to keep Mycroft happy, or at least at bay. He still had to endure the jibes and jokes at his expense over his continued 'dalliance' with his 'little middle class married couple.' He was advised to get over this 'debauched phase' of his life and turn his attentions to more 'serious matters.' But Sherlock noticed that Mycroft's sniping comments lacked the vitriol of similar comments made at similar meetings. _Perhaps he's getting used to the idea, _Sherlock thought, _after all, I'm not the bloody Prince of Wales. Who really cares what I, or Mycroft or John and Molly get up too?_ For his part, Sherlock enraged and frustrated his brother by reminding him at least four or five times that the questions he was asking Sherlock referred to matters that were none of Mycroft's business. At length the two stood almost nose to nose in Mycroft's office, close to coming to blows, when Sherlock smiled and stepped away from his brother, shrugging off the tension that had been building in him.

"I'm _happy_, Mycroft. They make me happy." Sherlock fairly blurted out, gesturing with his arms. "Can't you see it?" He asked, whirling toward him, taking careful note of his brother's expression. Yes, he saw in his face, Mycroft _knew_ he was happy. But what made him continue to tease? To diminish? _Aha. There it is._

"Jealousy?" Sherlock spat out. "I wouldn't have believed it unless I'd seen it for myself."

Mycroft had turned his head quickly and turned back to his brother, his mask restored.

"Careful what you think you observe, brother, dear. Sometimes we see what we only _wish_ were there." Mycroft smirked.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, recognizing one of his brother's usual tacks.

"All right, Mycroft, if you like. Have it your way. Not jealous? Wonderful. It is no matter to you that no one thinks, and I dare say, worries about you all day. More convenient that way, I'll have to agree. No one considers you or your thoughts on either small or large matters. No one asks for your personal advice. No one prepares tea with your preferences in mind and executes it perfectly, (well, by and by) and has it on the table when you get home. Phones you on a daily basis just to see how you are. _Touches_ you."

"Hmmhmm. There's no need at all to concern yourself with my personal - ."

"Loves you." Sherlock added quietly.

There was an awkward silence in the room and Sherlock was suddenly dismayed as he looked at his brother standing with his mouth agape. He'd rendered Mycroft speechless for the barest moment, but he had done it all the same.

"I think that's quite enough." Mycroft smiled, his chin held high, his look utterly unassailable to the untrained eye, but Sherlock stood down. He had his warranted animosities toward Mycroft, but they amounted to nothing at all in the grand scheme of things. No, indeed, they amounted to nothing at all, were completely risible when he considered what he had with Molly and John.

"Forgive me, Mycroft. I - I go too far." The younger Holmes sat in the chair he had been occupying during the brothers' meeting. He looked at his hands, waiting for Mycroft to continue their conference, or to offer another insult to do with Sherlock's relationship with the Watsons. But none came. Sherlock regarded his brother, moving a piece of paper on his desk, arranging some pens that were in some commemorative pewter cup. Hadn't he ever - ? Sherlock banished the thought of Mycroft's personal relationships, but a bitter taste remained in his mouth at the thought. His own relationship with Molly and John was still completely new, less than six months old, how dare he be so smug? With anyone? Even with pathetic Mycroft? Who knew what the future held?

"I beg your pardon," Sherlock concluded his apology and tried to help things along. "Were there some items for me to sign?"

'_I go too far?' and 'I beg your pardon?'_ _What alien entity has taken over my brother's body and voice? _Mycroft wondered, stunned at his younger sibling's behavior. _Perhaps, _he thought, _perhaps the good solid bourgeois attitudes of these two little people of his are having some kind of positive effect on the boy? I mean, on the young man. Oh, fully grown man, then! _Mycroft admitted to himself that he mustn't keep referring to Sherlock, even to himself, as 'boy' or even 'young man,' it was ridiculous. He was a fully grown man, pushing 40, now. When on earth had that happened? The years had simply flown by, hadn't they? Mycroft regarded his brother, behaving nicely, sitting quietly, not tapping his fingers, or his feet, his elegant legs crossed, his hands in his lap. _No, he's not at all 'the lad' or 'the boy,' anymore, is he? Perhaps I've been too – Hmm. _Mycroft pursed his lips, but continued the meeting.

"Yes, some – here, is the deed to the – as we discussed, I've already signed it. Your signature is also required here, and here, and on this one, too." Sherlock stood and stepped up to the desk and duly signed the papers he was handed, replacing the pen on the table.

"Well. If that's all?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes," Mycroft said, and Sherlock turned to go. "Sherlock," his brother called him back.

"Yes?" Sherlock turned.

"You do – seem quite - quite well."

Sherlock produced a wry smile, but nodded amiably at his brother.

"I am, yes."

"I – I am glad." Mycroft stepped over to Sherlock. "I hope you can - dismiss this afternoon's earlier – erm – disagreements as our usual sibiling –– _disagreements_ - ?" Sherlock wasn't sure what to make of this, then Mycroft held out his hand.

"Will you give my regards – to Dr. and Mrs. Watson? I offer them sincerely, Sherlock."

_A hand shake? Now? After all these years? _

Sherlock looked at his brother's hand, but couldn't help cocking his head or narrowing his eyes.

"That was a rather speedy turn around."

"Yes," said Mycroft, "Yes it was, I - Nevertheless . . ." He gestured again with his hand, opening it gently, turning the palm up.

"However," Sherlock began slowly, drawing out his vowels, "I – I believe you do – offer them sincerely. I – will be pleased to - forward your regards. And I - appreciate the gesture – very much." Sherlock slowly reached toward Mycroft, and for the first time in at least 15 years, the two brothers shook hands.

)))))

Sherlock left the building containing Mycroft's offices with a lighter head and sunnier attitude than he had had in years. But the situation in the city streets was another matter. He couldn't seem to hail a cab and for a moment he considered the tube, but remembered his last time on the underground and put the notion out of his head. _Agh,_ he thought, _I'll just make a start, maybe catch a cab farther along._ And he launched himself on a run for home, heading for 221B Baker Street It was at least a 30 minute cab ride, but he never intended to run the whole way.

Today was to be the first time that he and Molly and John would meet back at his apartment after the three agreed not to be held hostage by innuendo, sneering and cameras. They agreed they should continue to be vigilant and careful but if they were found out, by Donovan or anyone and somehow publicly exposed, they would have to deal with it in as forthright a manner as possible. There was no sense in pretending to be something they weren't, they all agreed, even John.

Sherlock had scoured the apartment with a vengeance for any bugs or cameras, finding nothing. Then, he put his homeless network to work in watching the building, and apparently there had been some activity, some police vehicles here and there, unrecognized visitors to the building in unmarked vans, the like. The activity had died down, however, particularly with Sherlock's street contacts on the job, and the three were wary, but somewhat relieved. Sherlock and Mycroft had touched on the subject as well, just before Sherlock left his brother's office.

"I'm sure with both of us working on – the case, we'll come up with a solution soon enough. Probably benign enough, some mean-minded little sergeant and her lover wish to get there own back after your reappearance. Just as you suspect. I'll see to it it's resolved."

"Please don't have anyone killed, though, Mycroft."

"No, of course not. Only in the figurative sense, hmm?"

"Or sacked. If this intrusive nonsense can be stopped, I'd prefer – to rise above it."

Sherlock knew Mycroft didn't mean to have anyone actually killed, it was a little expression the two of them had used when they were still boys. Sherlock smiled at what might very well be his brother's attempt at rekindling an intimacy between them.

"Oh, I see. You're right, of course. Well, just as you say then. No one will be – _repurposed_, then? I'll keep you apprised, naturally." Mycroft's smile was accompanied by a glance at the clock on the desk, and Sherlock took his cue.

"Well." Sherlock turned to the door.

"Sorry," Mycroft said, "There's a meeting I simply must - ."

"Not at all, not at all. Th – thank you, Mycroft." Sherlock had turned and left the office.

Sherlock continued his sharp pace, running down the city blocks closer with each stride to Molly and John. He knew they were already at home, waiting for him. He would text them as soon as he had a definite ETA, but for now, he enjoyed his bit of a run, taking the shortest avenue possible, scaling the odd fence, the odd gate when he could. It was a wonderful tension reliever, but it also heightened his anticipation at meeting his people this afternoon, made their meeting more urgent, more - more – well – impossible, but somehow even _more_ exciting than it was. Also, literally running away from Mycroft toward Molly and John was about as freeing and beautiful an experience as Sherlock had ever had.

_Hmm, about a 15 minute cab ride from here, _he thought as he continued his rather brisk running pace. _Proper footwear for this kind of running would really – goddamnit keep your pets on a shorter leash, why can't you? _Sherlock narrowly dodged a pensioner's Pomeranian. He slowed his pace briefly, recovering from his close miss and considered a cab again, but couldn't give up this adrenaline rush, this endorphin surge – it was too good.

_And what on earth do they have in store for me on this little holiday of theirs? _He wondered again, but tried to suppress his usual mental processes of investigation, of deduction in order not to try too hard, in order not to spoil his own surprise, as Molly had put it. He smiled at the childishness of it, the deliciousness. Like Christmas, like childhood birthdays.It was all too good, too good to be true. _Oh, for god's sake, I have to find a present for her. What, what, what? _There were still a few days before the three were to leave for their holiday. Enough time was left. _But what, what, what? Confer with John. Molly will say all she wants is her little outing. And to go to that particular beach. For us to be with her. To fly the kite. A visit to the nearby ruins of castle. _Sherlock pursed his lips, squinted at the notion. Women liked jewellery, he knew. _Not my Molly. She'll say she loves whatever I or John give her, of course, but – pah – no. It must be unique. Essential. Confer with John. No, no, erm, ask John's advice. _

The detective continued his brisk pace. He noticed the traffic was quite thick now, at a quarter to four in the afternoon, and for the moment he was easily outrunning it. When he noticed this he grinned. Then he giggled, and finally, he opened his mouth and laughed, running all the while, people around him gawking at what most certainly must be some kind of lunatic.

He was only about a quarter of a mile from the flat, when he slipped on some rubbish, bashed into the pole of a street sign and went careening into a rather deep and filthy puddle of what must have been some kind of sewage. He tried to keep his footing but fell into the muddy water, fouling his trousers and suit jacket. _Have I had a stroke or something? Why do I keep tripping like this? No, no, no, it's not my fault, that pile of stuff was wet and unstable, I shouldn't have tried to run through it. I – oh, for god's sake, they'll be cross with me for hurting myself again._ He wondered if his shoes were salvageable.

He limped the remaining distance home, grinning like a madman. He found that he'd twisted an ankle, but could see that it was nothing very serious. Home at last and up the stairs, he was exhausted but exhilarated, and deeply thankful for the sight of Molly and John setting out a tea tray. He saw that they had his favourite biscuits, just as he'd described to Mycroft earlier, and he smiled as his breath heaved in and out very audibly. He bit his lower lip, hoping the pain there would keep him from making some kind of fool of himself in front of his friends. John stepped up to him, knitting his brow despite his smile.

"What the fuck have you done to yourself, _now_?" asked John. He could see that Sherlock's shirt was splattered with something dark, his hair was impossible, and at closer inspection, his suit was completely filthy with most probably the same dark fluid that had soiled his shirt.

"Oh, my god, _again_?" Molly smiled, going to Sherlock's side, taking his hands and inspecting them. "You were running. Oh, love, you must wash your hands."

"No, no. Take a bath," John said, and gently laid his hand on Sherlock's jacket, offering to slip it off.

"I can -." Sherlock made to take off his own jacket.

"Come on, don't be shy," John said, "Let us. You can, you know, _let go_."

"I'll run the bath," Molly said, stepping away toward the bathroom, leaving John and Sherlock alone for the moment.

"You'll let me, hmm?" John asked, gently slipping the jacket off Sherlock's shoulders. The doctor lowered the jacket down from Sherlock's arms, and folded it onto the back of a chair, then returned to Sherlock, standing before him, smiling into his face. _Lovely John. What wouldn't I do for you? Make me wait forever, love, only let me stay with you both, and I'll still die happy. _Sherlock would have touched John, would have loved to kiss him, but he didn't want to contaminate him with his filthy hands, or even his face or hair, which almost certainly had some traces of sewage in it.

"I, hmmhmm, slipped in some rubbish, then a pool of sewage, I suppose. I was – you know - I was running."

"Away from Mycroft. Toward us? You don't have to run, love, we'll always wait for you. Always, hmm? I promise."

"_John._" Sherlock smiled to himself, recognizing John's oblique but forgiving reference to the detective's 18-month absence. Was John finally able to put that chapter of their lives behind them? The detective knew it continued to be a raw nerve for John from time to time, and who could blame him? The doctor never brought the matter up, himself, and when it did enter conversation in passing, as a reference point, John hung his head and said nothing. But here, suddenly was a note of loving forgiveness. _Do I deserve it? Never mind. Give something back, quickly, but don't overdo it._ He lowered his voice to his bedroom tone. "That's - very prettily said, John, love."

"Ahaha. Well, thank you." John always blushed a little at Sherlock's bedroom tone.

As John unbuttoned his friend's shirt, the scent of the doctor's soap and skin filled Sherlock's senses. Then he remembered he'd neglected to check the flat and its environs for cameras and bugs as he usually did when he got home.

"Oh, let me check -." Sherlock stepped away, but John gently restrained him.

"Hey, hey, that's all right, we had a look around. I think we were thorough enough for now, hmm, come on. Come back to me."

Sherlock turned back to his partner, his face, his eyes. Sherlock was delighted with John's initiative-taking this afternoon, and wondered how blue eyes could be so deep and so dark. John was sliding the cloth of Sherlock's shirt off his shoulders now and Sherlock breathed in, hissing at John's touch and the cool air of the room against his now bare skin. John locked eyes with his partner again, smiling up at him as the doctor undid Sherlock's belt, then his trousers. He paused a moment, and pressed his hands under the elastic of his friend's pants, taking fistfuls of the flesh of Sherlock's backside in his hands, pressing against him, digging his chin into Sherlock's shoulder. He heard Sherlock purr.

"Mmm, lovely. Together, yeah?" John shucked off his friends trousers and pants at the same time, pausing to let Sherlock toe out of his shoes. John slipped the socks off his feet, caressing the calves, the ankles with a smile and a certain reverence. The soiled clothes were flung aside.

"This ankle is swollen. What have you done?"

"It – doesn't hurt – much."

"We'll put some ice on after the bath, hmm?" John continued stroking the skin of Sherlock's shin, then rose, smiling.

"My hands are filthy, John." Sherlock smiled, gesturing, wanting to touch his friend.

"S'ok. Plenty of time. Come on, let's get you cleaned up." John smiled, taking Sherlock by the waist, leading him to the bathroom.

Sherlock hadn't had anyone's hands on him in the bath since he was a very small child. At first, as he stepped into the tub he was a little embarrassed, but when the gentle herbal scent of the water and Molly's bubbles hit him he didn't have to be told to lie back and let them do the work. He closed his eyes, and dipped his head beneath the water's surface, wetting his head completely. When he resurfaced he relaxed and let John and Molly take over as they scrubbed him from head to toe.

"Here, love, wash your own face, will you? So you don't get soap in your eyes." Molly handed Sherlock a flannel.

"Why?" Sherlock asked, his word becoming a bit of a wet bubble against the soapy cloth as he washed his face.

"Why shouldn't you get soap in your eyes?" Molly frowned.

"No, why – do you do this – why do you do these lovely things for me – I can, I can certainly -."

"We like to, love," said John, gently scrubbing legs and feet. "We know things are hard for you."

"What things?"

"Everyday things," said Molly, "Not like this, but other little every day things are frustrating for you. We wish we could do those things for you, too, but we can't. But we can do this, and you can let go. And – we like to touch you. To – take care of you."

"Mmm." Sherlock put the cloth aside and leaned back again, closing his eyes, and felt Molly move to put her hands on his head, working his usual shampoo into his hair. "But," he continued, "Am I worth it? Such trouble?"

"Hmhm, yes love," Molly hushed.

"Worth it? Don't be daft. But, it's also a bit of foreplay, too, isn't it?" John snickered. Sherlock smiled as John gently scrubbed Sherlock's abdomen with a flannel. He dipped into the water, now, and was gently washing his friend's sex, the insides of his thighs, his testicles, his backside, the cleft of his arse, his tight ring of muscle. Sherlock relaxed, spreading his legs, arching his back, purring.

"No, it's not foreplay, not for me, it's – it's just - ." Molly couldn't help but smile.

"What a liar! Ahaha, yes, I can see that it's not foreplay for you at all, Molly Hooper Watson!" John put his wet arms around Molly, biting her neck gently, and then kissed her, putting his soapy hands all over her blouse as he groped her breasts. He pressed his fully hard erection against her thigh. "You're not at all wet under there, are you?" John kneaded her backside gently.

"Hmm, well, I am now." She leaned into John's embrace and kissed him. Sherlock smiled at the sight of them, feeling very much a part of their play, even while he himself was sleepy and content in his still warm and bubbly bath.

"Come on, John," Molly said, breaking from her husband, "Let's rinse him off, and get him to bed, hmm?" Molly reached between Sherlock's feet, and pulled out the stopper, letting the water glug away. Sherlock could see through Molly's and John's silent communication that there was something very definitely on for tonight. _What's going on? _ He wondered. Something new and by the look of John's face, something _dangerous. Could it be – tonight? No. He would tell me, wouldn't he? He did before – when we -? No, he's – afraid, of losing control, he wants to have control over it somehow. Oh my god. Oh my god! _Sherlock was suddenly fairly confident that tonight was the night. His breathing hitched, and he was sure he was showing a bit of pink in his face and neck, perhaps his chest. He hoped this would be covered up by the steam in the bathroom, by the heat of the bath. He struggled with his expression, trying to relax the muscles of his face, trying to keep from grinning.

Molly rinsed Sherlock thoroughly while John waited with a huge fluffy white towel over his arm. He smiled patiently as Sherlock pulled Molly off her feet and into the tub with him, kissing her, petting her.

"Umph, the two of you – you're getting me wet – you know what I mean – stop laughing at me! Come on, love," she said, "let us dry you off."

Sherlock stepped out of the bath and stood still as John and Molly rubbed and buffed him like a vintage auto. They reached up and tousled his hair in another smaller dry towel, then led him to bed, where he saw his restraints awaiting him. In a few moments Sherlock was bound to the bed, his legs spread wide, his arms over his head as before. John was kissing and licking his neck. Molly was close, too, kissing his shoulder, stroking his side. They all agreed on 'biosphere' again for the safeword, then descended upon Sherlock, with mouths and tongues and fingers.

"I'm all clean, love," John said into his friend's ear.

"_What?_" Sherlock took the opportunity to test to the restraints again.

"Yes, love. Tonight. Now. I know you already know. I saw you blush in the bath. Very lovely." John slid down Sherlock's body, smiling and took his cock in his mouth, as Molly kissed and stroked their lover's face.

"But, John, love, don't you want – oh _god_!" Sherlock arched his back, pressing into the pleasure of John's hot wet tongue on him, the doctor's fingers already wet and slick with lubricant, searching and then suddenly finding his opening, thrusting in, brushing his prostate gently.

"You're so lovely bound, aren't you?" Molly cooed in his ear as she watched Sherlock's expressions of frustration, desire and pleasure morph back and forth into one another. "Yes, I could watch you all day, all day as John sucks you, puts his fingers inside you. But isn't he marvellous with his wicked tongue?" A particularly loud groan of pleasure escaped Sherlock as Molly watched his face. She smiled, feeling herself getting wetter and wetter. "Mmm, lovely darling, but don't come yet, all right? We're going to use you rather mercilessly tonight, if you don't mind."

"Yes, please, do what you want, oh, god, Molly, please do whatever you want."

"Mmm, thank you love. I promise that we will."

Molly kissed Sherlock and slipped off the bed, already unbuttoning her blouse. Sherlock watched her as Molly unteasingly, frankly revealed her body to him, unbuttoning, unzipping, unveiling her lovely smooth skin, piece by piece until she was naked before him. Sherlock's attention was divided between what lovely things John was doing to him, and Molly's incredible nakedness. He groaned as John brushed against his prostate again, but then he opened his mouth, hoping that Molly would come back to bed, straddle his chest and press her sex against his face.

"Molly, love? Oh, god, John!" Sherlock tried to beckon her to him, but Molly sat in the chair that was directly behind her, directly in Sherlock's line of vision. She got comfortable and then bent her knees up, opening herself to Sherlock's view completely and then she reached down and touched herself, rubbing gently, slowly, licking her lips.

"I – I – John, Molly, please, please -." Sherlock strained against the cuffs, making the bed groan under his efforts, his pulling and struggling.

John released Sherlock's cock from his mouth with a popping sound, then took it up again just to release him with the same sound, he repeated this a couple more times, popping out Sherlock's cock again and again, then laughed.

"Take it easy, love," John advised, stroking his friend's cock with his hand, the fingers of his other hand deep inside the heat of Sherlock's body. "It's going to be a rather strenuous evening for you, I think. You'll have to pace yourself a bit, hmm?

"John, I – I'm already getting close, I think - ."

"Mmm, that won't do. Molly, where - ?"

"Dresser. On top, mpphh." Molly had gotten rather worked up and was already closing in on her first orgasm. John located the cock ring on the dresser and quickly fastened it to the base of Sherlock's shaft enjoying his friend's mild shout of mixed protest and accord.

"Ok?" John kissed the inside of Sherlock's thigh and quickly turned his attention to Molly, picking her up and turning her around. He pulled her back against him as he sat in the chair. Molly was in John's lap, now, in the chair again, being impaled by John as Sherlock watched, rapt and panting. Their bodies together created the alter at which he worshipped. John's face was regrettably blocked, but Molly, her back against John, looked into Sherlock's eyes, offering herself to him, open, wanton as she moved against John's gentle thrusting. Sherlock wanted nothing more than to kneel before them, now, between their legs, Molly's draped over John's, and kiss and suck their bodies where they joined, moving. But he was tied. He pulled against the restraints, fairly howling his frustration. Molly smiled at Sherlock's struggle even as she was quite close to her own climax. It approached, and she felt that edge of panic she usually did. She ground against John, his cock thrusting deeply into her, but also reached down to touch herself.

"Just use your hips love," John urged her, and letting go of her breasts, which he was kneading at the same time he supported her weight in his lap, he grabbed her wrists instead.

"Oh, John, let me go, let go of my hands." Molly was frantic, now, wanting to touch herself, but John knew she loved the frustration and panic. "Oh, please, John, please," Molly urged, trying to slip out of John's grip, but even as she did so she was surging against John, quickening her movements to shorter quicker thrusts until her world dissolved around her, and her body began the uncontrolled shaking that signalled her finish. She let out a series of cries, and finally collapsed back against John, who continued to pulse into his wife.

"Ooo, Molly, love, you just got incredibly wet for me, darling, oh, god you're so lovely." John wrapped one arm firmly around her chest, and gripped her hip as he finished himself off, fucking her from behind. They lay back in the chair for a few moments and then the couple looked up to see Sherlock watching them, his hips still thrusting involuntarily, trying to gain purchase upon the air itself for some relief.

"Oh, god, poor baby. Come on, John, let's help him." John and Molly approached the bed now, and Sherlock closed his eyes in relief and pleasure as John teased his cock with his tongue, and Molly straddled his chest.

"Hello, darling. Want to taste a bit of John? Well, really both of us, both of us together, you'd like that wouldn't you, love?" Molly didn't wait for an answer, but leaned forward gripping the headboard in her hands as she faced the wall. She pressed her sex to Sherlock's mouth and sank down gently, moving slowly carefully. She felt him purr against her, felt his tongue and teeth press into her skin. He was making her insides throb a bit, then she began to grind down against him, pressing herself against his tongue and lips the way she liked it best.

"Yes, moan for me love," Molly urged him, "it feels wonderful when you do, moan long and loudly for me, will you, oh, lovely, darling." Sherlock tried to keep up a constant loud moaning against Molly's sex, and let the moaning be punctuated by shocks that John was causing him, his fingers inside him again, brushing mercilessly against his prostate. _How long can this cock ring actually keep me from coming? _he wondered, _I don't know how much longer I can hold on. _

At length Molly unseated herself from Sherlock's face, and turned around to face John, pressing back down onto Sherlock's mouth, now facing the other direction. Sherlock continued to tongue and nip Molly as he felt two mouths descend onto his prick, slurping at him, kissing him.

Molly smiled into John's face as the two of them worked at Sherlock's erection with tongues and mouths.

"We have him, John, love, we have him, he's ours," Molly whispered.

"Mmm, yes, love, he's ours, now, we won't let him go." John skimmed Sherlock's prostate again, and watched Molly's face register an unexpected moment of pleasure as Sherlock reacted to John's touch.

"He bites me a little when you do that." Molly said.

"Oh, sorry, I -."

"Don't be absurd. Do it again."

"Oh, I see, all right."

"Ah, oh god, lovely." Molly reached for her husband face and kissed him gently, then devoured his mouth, biting and sucking him until he yelped from a particularly brutal assault with teeth.

"Mmm, sorry, love," Molly said carelessly, "Let me have his cock now, will you?"

"Of course, darling," John knelt up in the bed, helping to support his wife as she slid to Sherlock's hips, and straddled his hips, looking down at him. She took his cock in her hand and stroked him, running the nails of her other hand along the shaft.

"I'm so lovely and wet, Sherlock. It will be easy, so easy for you to get in. See?" She pressed her sex against Sherlock's shaft, thrusting backward and forward on him without letting him enter her.

"Oh, god, Molly love, please, please . . ."

"Yes, love, yes, now - ." Molly raised herself up slightly, and pressed Sherlock's cock into her. Sherlock swore and Molly let out a loud moan as she sank down on his considerable shaft, holding still for a moment once she was completely filled with him. She was a little off balance, now, Sherlock still could surprise her sometimes, even like this, his cock was so large inside her small frame. She looked at him, her lips parted, speechless, and she saw him smile at her, knowing that she had to get control of herself for a few moments.

"It's all right, love, take your time." Sherlock licked his lips, loving the moment, loving the moments still to come.

At length, Molly began to move against Sherlock, but she was so wet, and so ready that she only thrust against her lover a few times before she was near her climax again.

"Hmm, lovely, Molly, darling, what a sweet compliment," said Sherlock, thrusting his hips as best he could as Molly lost control and thrust against him with abandon.

"Oh, god, love, I didn't mean to come so fast," Molly whimpered as she collapsed against Sherlock's chest, kissing him, stroking him.

"Hmmhmm, no? It was lovely, in any case, sweetheart. Kiss me, love?" Molly smiled up into Sherlock's face and pecked him quickly.

"Ready for more?"

"I don't know, I -."

Molly slid to one side of Sherlock and John slid into bed on Sherlock's other side.

"How do you feel?" John asked, licking a long path along Sherlock's neck; his tongue lingering behind his ear, swirling around in circles.

"John, love, I'm – I'm - ."

"Nervous? I thought that was my department?"

"Well, I – what, John, what do you plan to - ."

"Well, I thought I'd have you here, tied up like this. We'll let your ankles go, hmm? I'll ride you. You'll like that, won't you?"

"But John, your first time, don't you think -?" Sherlock wondered if John were quite ready for what he was suggesting.

John straddled Sherlock, pressing his face into his neck, setting his teeth against his skin, experimenting, not quite biting.

"_Ah,_" said John, smiling, "Molly's getting me ready, now. She has – her fingers – oh god, inside me, three now. Oh, _fuck_." John was licking and kissing Sherlock's lips as Sherlock panted, his breath coming shorter and shorter, and was getting more and more irregular.

"John, I – I just wonder if -."

"Shh, we'll figure it out, hmm? Oh, god, she's ahaha, using more lubricant. That's good, Molly, love. Oh, shit, what, _ah!_" John pressed his face against Sherlock's chest, moaning, then smiled up at Sherlock again. "She's using that awful pink phallus, ah, she's, ah, Molly, love, ahaha." John took Sherlock's face in his hands, kissing him, then leaned back, locking eyes with him. "It's all the way inside me now, love." Sherlock watched John's color turn darker, pinker, watched him close his eyes then listened to him whisper, "She's fucking me with it, now, you know, slowly – ah – in and out.

"John, love are you – are you afraid I'll – I'll hurt you, or - ."

"No, no, nothing to do with that sort of thing – I'm – It's hard for me - to let go, you know. Hard to – relinquish control."

"Yes."

"I – I need – I don't know. I'll unclip you, I promise, just let me – have this first moment my way, won't you?"

"Yes, of course." Sherlock pressed his face against John's in what he hoped could be interpreted as an encouraging gesture. "Hmmhmm, she's, she's putting a condom on me. And now some lubricant, ah, thank you Molly, love."

"Oh, I forgot," Molly chirped and hopped off the bed, undoing Sherlock's ankles, so he could bend his knees and move his hips more freely.

Sherlock was breathing hard and fast now as John nuzzled him, bit him, and seemed to be either teasing him, or unsure of how to begin. Then he lifted his head to smile at Sherlock, as he sat up slightly.

"Molly, will you - help us out a bit?" John asked, his own breath ragged, as he bit his lower lip, his eyes still locked on his partner's.

"With pleasure," Molly licked her lips, taking Sherlock's cock in her hand. She held John by the waist, rubbing circles against his skin and gently pressed Sherlock's tip against John's opening, which was exposed and ready with plenty of lubricant. Sherlock hissed in his breath at the moment of penetration. He watched as John's body stiffened somewhat, and the doctor let out a little sigh of 'oh.' John seemed to force himself to take control and leaned down pressing his mouth to his friend's, licking and biting his lips.

"Oh, John," Sherlock breathed as he felt John's body constrict around the tip of him. "Oh, god, so tight, love," he whispered in his friend's ear.

"Mmm," John murmured, unable to make too many words. John continued to kiss his friend, taking in the sensations of Molly's hands rubbing comforting patterns on his back, and the tip of Sherlock's cock inside him. He tried to relax, now, relax those lower muscles. John carefully sat up a little higher and slowly pressed back and down against Sherlock's stiff shaft, enveloping him, impaling himself.

"Sherlock, I – oh god." John sat up on Sherlock's hips, quaking slightly, and Sherlock had to smile.

"John, love, let me go, now, hmm? Let me go, we'll be slow, yes? You can tell me what to do, just let me help you, let me hold you, please – Molly, you see he's a little – out of his depth, yes?"

Molly had to agree with Sherlock, and she moved to quickly unbuckle him from his restraints. As soon as he was free, Sherlock swept John into his arms, gently lowering him to the mattress, withdrawing from him almost all the way.

"Come here, Molly, stay close, love," Sherlock beckoned to Molly, and she slid in to John's side, stroking his arm, kissing his neck. Sherlock looked down at his friend, who was still a little off balance, though he seemed to be comfortable, smiling up at his friend.

"All right, John?" Sherlock asked, smiling and shaking his head at John's gesture.

"Did I get you?"

"What? Did you get what?"

"No, did I get you? Did I surprise you?" John asked somewhat dreamily.

Sherlock sighed, deeply in love.

"Yes, John, love. You surprised me. You very much surprised me."

"Ahaha. I thought so. I thought I would."

"Yes, yes, you did, love," Sherlock reassured John as he pulsed ever so gently, ever so shallowly into his friend.

"Mmm, good. That feels good, Sherlock."

"Oh, god, love, does it? Good." Sherlock pressed a little deeper in, but still gently, slowly.

"Mmm, yes, it does. Burns a little, doesn't it? But so good. Full – umph. I knew it would be – good. Yeah, like that, oh god. I've wanted to feel you inside me for a long time. I just – I just didn't know – how to – begin."

Sherlock wasn't sure what John meant, but things were getting a little blurry for him, now as his own desire and need began to make themselves known more sharply.

"Well, that's all right, we're here, now." Sherlock nuzzled his friend's ear.

"Deeper, love." John put his arms around Sherlock's neck, and pressed his face against his chest.

"Like this?" Sherlock pressed deeper into John, now he was almost all the way in.

"Mmm, deeper. Harder, yes? I think - ."

"Oh, god, John, love, yes, like this?" Sherlock pressed deeper and a little harder, but continued to be careful, so careful.

"Ahaha." John looked up at Sherlock with a smile and a question in his eyes. "I thought – I thought you wanted to fuck me properly? Come on, harder. All the way."

"Oh, god, love, you're going to drive me mad," Sherlock pressed a little harder into John, driving all the way in, lifting John's legs as he pumped in and out for several strokes, moaning a little, then he looked down at John again.

"I thought – I thought you wanted – to – to -." John looked up at Sherlock with that same question in his face.

"John, for god's sake, it's your first time," Sherlock started pumping into John with more abandon, more power.

"Ah, yes, that's – that's what I -." John's grimaced smile of surrender was almost more than Sherlock could take and he kissed his friend soundly, his mouth, his eyes, he licked his nose as he continued to stroke into him.

"All right – all right, John - tell me if it's too much – will you promise, hmm? Promise you'll tell me?"

"Yes, yes, I promise, go ahead," John reached to Sherlock's ear and whispered, but still loud enough for Molly to hear. "Fuck me, now, love I want to feel you all the way in me, all the way, I want to feel you on me, moving against me, fuck me hard, as hard as you want, ok? I'm a grown man, I've seen what you do to Molly - I won't break, go ahead - show me, show me _everything_."

"Oh, jesus god," Sherlock just about lost his mind, and then he lost almost all control as he pounded into John, throwing his gentleness aside as the pent up frustrations of six months rose up in him to be purged.

The evening would always be a bit of a blur for Sherlock after that moment, but he remembered, despite his near total loss of control, John's face smiling up at him, encouraging him, moaning and cooing to him, smiling his approval. The doctor never went quiet, but continued to be an active participant, though it was Sherlock who did most of the so-called work. _Lots of potential,_ thought Sherlock at one moment.

At length, Sherlock knelt up in bed, pulling John's hips against him, continuing to thrust into him, though now at a different angle.

"Oh, jesus, fuck, ahaha," said John.

"Molly, love, would you like to join us?" Sherlock smiled as Molly took John's cock in her mouth.

"Oh, my god, oh my fucking god!" John arched his back into Molly, and squeezed his muscles hard against Sherlock. "I don't know – how long I can -."

"Don't worry love, not long now." But Sherlock felt Molly reach for his cock ring. "No, no, not yet, Molly, leave it for a moment or I won't last at all – let me – mmph, let us finish him, first, hmm? Then, let me go, can you?"

Molly nodded her assent without letting go of John's prick, and John was vocalizing more loudly, now, swearing and including Sherlock's and Molly's names. Sherlock continued to pulse against his hips while Molly sucked him and John's senses somehow mixed themselves up and he didn't know where he was or what was happening or if he would ever come down again from floating in the air like this or if he would remain like this forever. At last he came, shouting Sherlock's name loudly, ending with a resounding 'I love you,' which made both Sherlock and Molly titter lightly. Sherlock continued to stroke against John as the doctor opened his eyes, smiling up at his friend. He seemed coherent despite their evening's extended debauchery.

"Molly, love, can you take the cock ring off? I don't think we can keep him this way much longer, can we?

"Yes, darling, now?"

"Hmm, not sure, let me ask. Now, Sherlock?" John asked as he reached for his friend, wrapping his arms around his neck, pulling him down to him.

"Yes, please, John, Molly, please, now, now, please -."

Molly managed to reach between the two men's bodies and release the little ring from the base of Sherlock's shaft. The detective took a moment to adjust, slowing his thrusts, then quickened them again, as John pulled Sherlock down against him, locking his legs around his waist. Sherlock had only a few more thrusts left before he was shouting his release, shaking stiffly against John's chest, then he collapsed, almost completely covering John with his spent body, his face hot and wet against the doctor's neck. As John gently caressed Sherlock's back, he caught Molly's eye and the couple smiled at one another. John gestured with his mouth and Molly came to him, kissing him, her own hand straying to Sherlock's back, entwining with John's fingers, stroking their lover's back together.

"Love you, darling."

"Love you, we love you, Sherlock."

"We love you."

)))))))

Arms and legs untangled, hair was pushed out of eyes, faces were rubbed with fingers, and by and by the three found themselves comfortably arranged – with Sherlock in the middle, in their familiar bedroom. It was that time in the morning when the candles were winking out, slowly, one by one as they came to the end of their lives, having burned far longer than usual.

Sherlock's arms were around each of his people and though they were each cuddled up to him, each with their arms around him, within kissing range of one another, he couldn't seem to get them close enough. He squeezed them to him again, kissing John's sandy hair, then Molly's temple.

"You'll have to get used to it somehow, love." Molly murmured, petting Sherlock's chest, kissing him, tonguing a nipple.

"Get used to what?" Sherlock asked.

"Get used to how much we love you," John offered, yawning, stretching.

"I don't think so – I don't see how - ."

Sherlock watched as Molly leaned up on an elbow, her hair cascading down her arm, a few strands strayed to Sherlock's own arm, his chest. _So unutterable lovely. How did I waste those first few years that I knew her? Well. I'm an idiot. John's right, I'm a complete idiot. _

"Hmm, that's ok. Don't, then, never get used to it. Doesn't matter. Such a pretty mouth. Such a pretty boy." Molly was running the fingertips of her free hand along the outline of Sherlock's lips, back and forth. At length, she pressed two of her fingers into his mouth and he nipped her, then sucked the fingers, tonguing them. Molly's eyes half closed at the warmth of his mouth. She withdrew her fingers after a few moments and leaned down to Sherlock's face, brushing her lips against his cheek, his nose before descending to his lips. Slowly, languorously she licked them, then his teeth, then she explored the secret hiding place of his mouth, searching out each divide between his teeth, tickling the upper palette with the tip of her tongue.

John watched the two as their kiss deepened, and seemed to last and last. He smiled. _This was how it all began_, he reflected. _With me watching them. Watching them kiss, then making love and then – they - they wanted me to participate. Sherlock wanted me – and I – wanted him – but I only knew it later. Is that right? _John found it didn't matter. The moment was more important than how it had arrived. And now, it was here. _It's here._

)))))))))))))

_Thanks for waiting for me, ahaha._

_I love you, my sweet little puddings._

_Next will be Molly's birthday holiday._

_That might break down into a couple chapters_

_AND THAT WILL BE THE END!_

_More stories within the realm of this one will be posted as one-shots._

_I have a bunch of ideas already._

_Those will all be carefully labelled as being 'within the realm of J'sIfor3'_

_Would love to hear from you_

_You know the deal:_

_Impoverished arts-type desperate for stroking._

_Looking forward! _

_I respond to everyone who reviews or PM's me._

_Except for guests, I can't respond to you because of how the website is set up._

_Love, love, love!_

_Oh yeah – it's crazy and I don't know how to work it_

_But I made a tumblr page_

_ .com_

_VERY NSFW (not safe for work!)_

_VERY 18+_

_Might be dangerous._

_There is serious porn of various varieties_

_Just a few randomly reblogged images that I find fun_

_And which I think vaguely illustrate the notion of Jollock_

_Enjoy! _

_But like I said, I don't know if things work, like if you can leave messages. And I know the stuff I've reblogged doesn't come up in any tag searches I do. _

_I don't know what that means. Alas. _


	47. BIRTHDAY HOLIDAY I - 072213

_Here we are – the beginning of the end._

_Hope you enjoy._

_**Birthday Holiday I**_

_Debauchery, _Sherlock thought again as he trotted down the stairs of Mycroft's office building, to the sidewalk in central London. He scanned the traffic as he buttoned and smoothed his suit jacket and quickly spotted the rental car John had described to him on the mobile only moments before. And sure enough, there was John at the wheel, waving his hand out the window to signal his friend. It was a sedan, probably very comfortable inside, and Sherlock didn't fail to notice the tinted windows of the back seat. He smiled to himself at what this weekend was for. To celebrate Molly's birthday. Celebrating Molly's birthday, however didn't simply mean birthday cake and gifts. He knew what Molly wanted, and he was grateful that he was still a young man. He wondered briefly about John and how his friend had put up with – well, with her insatiability, before the three of them were together. _Oh, we'll celebrate properly, Molly love, never fear. _

But there was some secret surprise his lovely people had planned for him, as well, he knew. He had tried very, very hard _not_ to try too hard to deduce what was going on, but he had a very good idea of what was going to happen. Some sort of mimicry of normal people, he was fairly certain. S_ome sort of a – thing - to make me feel like I'm a part of them – some sort of little – ceremony?_ _Some little tradition?_ _An exchange of tokens? Good lord how potentially nauseating. I must be very careful to react properly, show that I like it. Oh for god's sake! _It was just about the level of twee that Sherlock would not be able to tolerate. How would he get through the weekend without offending his lovely people?Sherlock bit his lip to keep himself from smiling smugly, and to keep from blushing. He wasn't completely sure how he felt about whatever they had planned, but he was starting to embarrass himself at how very much the attention pleased him. _It's not right. It's not _my_ birthday. _He thought.

The sedan pulled up at the kerb and John popped out of the car, leaning over the roof and raised his voice over the ambient noise of London at midday.

"I'll take care of the driving – if you don't mind? Molly drives like a maniac, and I don't think you like it very much do you?" He asked as Sherlock approached the car.

"Ah, no, that's quite true, but - ."

"Let me do it then – my little control thing –It's not so very far. Near Bournemouth. you don't mind?"

"Not at all – " Sherlock made to get into the front passenger seat.

"But, why don't you – keep Molly company?" John tilted his head and licked his lips at his friend, "It's her _birthday_, after all."

Sherlock looked at Molly's smug expression in the window. She winked at him and then opened the back door for him, nestling further into the car, and disappearing from view. Sherlock smiled at John with a roll of the eyes.

"Is that going to be a sort of catch phrase this weekend? 'It's Molly's birthday, after all?'" Sherlock asked John.

"Well, yes, I think so." John grinned as he ducked into the car, and Sherlock joined Molly in the back seat.

John pulled out into traffic as Sherlock and Molly briefly kissed and settled into their seats. Molly seemed to glow as they drove for a few minutes in silence.

"This is so lovely. Taking a trip. A romantic weekend. All together, with no – no _problems_ to concern ourselves with. It's so wonderfully - well - _normal_, I can't believe we're doing it. I can't tell you how much I've been looking forward to this."

"Well, we've got to get there first," Sherlock heard John say and he noted a fair amount of tension in his voice.

"Any time, John, I'll be happy to do my part." Sherlock reminded him.

"Well, we'll see. Let me get us out of London, first." John put his full attention on the traffic. _He's quite stressed already. Associates driving with some of his Afghanistan experiences, no doubt. I'll be sure to take over when we stop,_ Sherlock thought, and turned his attention to Molly.

"I don't mean to gush, but - I'm just so – just so – Ahaha. Well, I've been looking forward to it so," Molly smiled at him and Sherlock sighed with pleasure as the two pulled in close and put their arms around each other. While this morning's latest meeting with Mycroft had been easy enough and pleasant enough and thank god _brief_ enough, it was still a tension producer for the detective, and Molly's presence was always a welcome and healing balm. Sherlock pressed his mouth to the top of her head in a kiss, and Molly reached her face to his, reaching for his mouth with hers.

"Not tired of me yet?" He asked her, but there was a smile in his voice.

"Ahaha. You've lost your mind," Molly replied, unbuttoning the first two buttons of Sherlock's shirt.

"Hmmhmm, we're still in the city, love," Sherlock gripped the back of Molly's neck gently as he stroked her cheek with his own, a days worth of stubble still in tact.

"Ahaha. Tinted windows." Molly tried to devour his neck.

"John - she's – she's impossible! Is it all right – if we -?"

"I'm fine, Sherlock, go ahead, it's her _birthday_. Ahaha."

"All right, hang on, Molly," Sherlock leaned up and touched John's shoulder lightly. "I'll take over when we stop, John."

"I'm fine, love," John assured his friend, but when Sherlock squeezed the doctor's shoulder briefly, just before releasing him and sinking back into his seat, Sherlock noticed the newly built up tension there. _Yes, revisiting Afghanistan a bit. We'll have to sort him out when we get to the – hotel room. _

Sherlock turned his attention to Molly who already had his belt buckle undone, and was smiling at him smugly as she undid his buttons and zip. She pressed close to him, an arm around his shoulder, her face against his neck, as she gently reached into his trousers, and released his now fully erect cock. She set her teeth into the skin of his jaw line, biting gently as she slowly and gently stroked him. He hissed his pleasure at the contact of her hand, and gripped her waist a little tighter.

"_Molly_."

"You look so prim and proper coming down those stairs, love. Buttoning up your jacket. Ahaha. Adjusting your _cuffs_. No one would ever think only moments later you'd be having your cock sucked."

"But I'm not having my – _ah_, Molly, love, oh for god's sake - ." Molly ducked her head to Sherlock's lap before he could finish his sentence. She gobbled him down, then rose up again to tease his head a bit, running the tip of her tongue along his contour, pressing against the tiny hole. She then took the length of him again, more slowly this time, letting him pulse in an out of her mouth as she reached lower to stroke and pet his testicles.

Sherlock let her do what she wanted, there was little point in resisting her, even if he had wanted to. Not today, not for the whole weekend. He leaned his head back against the car seat, his hands stroking her hair as her head rose and fell in his lap as familiar buildings and sights of the city whipped by his gaze. At length Molly rose up from her efforts, her face pink and wet to kiss him, and he quickly unbuttoned her blouse to find she'd worn no bra today. He pulled her into his lap, pressing his face against her chest, rubbing the stubble of his chin and cheek against her the way he knew she liked and she wrapped her arms around his neck, grinding herself against him.

As he trailed kissed across Molly's clavicle, sucking the swell of her breast, teasing out a nipple with a gentle bite, he stroked her thigh, reaching higher and higher under her skirt until he found that Molly had worn no pants today either.

"Good _lord_, Molly, what if we're in an auto accident?"

"Good _lord_, Sherlock, when did you turn into my grandmother?" Molly teased and spread her legs, reaching her hand to his, pressing his hand against her. Sherlock found that she was already quite wet, and he lazily pressed one, then two fingers into her, finding her body quite hot as well as damp. They continued to explore one another in this way, Molly stroking Sherlock's erection, Sherlock with his hand deep between Molly's legs. Finally, Molly surged up against Sherlock, straddling him, her arms around his neck, smiling into his face.

"I love car sex," she said, nipping at his mouth and ears, "Especially when someone dependable is at the wheel."

Sherlock was unable to make words just at the moment, and hauled Molly's hips up, off him, while he reached down and pressed his cock between her legs, against her wet outer lips. He watched her face change to one of unveiled, smiling lust as she slowly sank down the length of his cock, pressing down when she got to the end, grinding a bit against him, just as he was fully seated inside her.

"Oh, _god,_ love." Sherlock pressed his face against her cheek and heard her hum her contentment to him. He ran his hands around her waist and down to grip the cheeks of her backside. He kneaded them, pulling them apart, digging in hard with his fingers.

"Lovely, sweetheart," Molly breathed against his ear, "so lovely. Yes, get a good handful of me, love, let me feel your hands." She pressed her face to his, driving her tongue into his mouth. Then she started to really move.

She gripped his cock with her inner muscles hard, and then let go a little as she swung her hips around in lazy circles, first this way, then the other way. She finished each circle with a little twist of her hips which surprised Sherlock, she'd never done that before. _Little surprises all the time. How delightful. _ _Ah!_ He felt Molly's nails in the skin of his neck gently but firmly pressing into him, scratching down to his chest. She pinched and scratched his nipples as she rode him, making him hiss and moan with little cries of mixed protest.

Sherlock noticed that Molly's movements were getting faster and more erratic. He looked into her face, red and a little sweaty with her exertions and noticed that panicked look she got sometimes as she reached her plateau.

"All right, love? Getting close? Hmmhmm, I love to see you like this. Don't worry, love, don't worry." Sherlock smiled, and bit one of her nipples hard. She cried out a guttural sound and flung her head back as she gripped Sherlock's neck harder, moving against him even more desperately than she had been. He reached for her other nipple and bit down. She cried out again and thrust against him harder, and harder, until she stiffened slightly, her body quaking. He held her hard against him as she rode out the waves of her orgasm, then bit one of her nipples again, just a little more gently than before.

"Mmm, love – " Molly moaned deeply, but her voice registered no pain or surprise at Sherlock's last bite. _The pain threshold of women in general is utterly astounding. _He noted, not for the first time. _All that childbearing equipment must have something to do with it. Must research. Fascinating._

Sherlock continued to pet and stroke Molly's backside as she recovered, but then she was moving against him again, suddenly, but not at all unexpectedly.

"Come on, love, fuck me, take me for a ride, hmm? Don't you want to finish?"

"Mmm, yes, love, just – " Sherlock unbuttoned her blouse the rest of the way and slipped the cloth of it off her shoulders, placing it on the seat next to them. He licked and sucked a nipple reverently, then switched to the other, scratching her back gently with his nails as he did. He smiled up at her then leaned in to fuck the hollow of her neck with his tongue, flicking the tip of it like a serpent. He reached for the waistband of her skirt.

"Need to have me naked, sweetheart? All right." Molly reached behind herself and undid her skirt's button and zip, and lifted the garment over her head, tossing it next to them on the seat alongside her blouse. Then she let her hair out of the barrette that had been holding her tresses at the side of her head. Her dark chestnut hair spilled down her shoulder, covering a breast, and Sherlock leaned back, pressing her away from him a little so he could look at her, his hands running up and down her body from her neck to her hips. He glanced out the darkened windows at the London streets as they sped by, and enjoyed the incongruity of the presence of this naked woman in his lap, on his cock, as they sped through the metropolis in broad daylight.

"Beautiful, darling." Sherlock smiled and stroked her cheek, then pressed a finger into her mouth, quickly adding another. "Lick, that's right suck, get them nice and wet." He withdrew his fingers, gripped her hips against his began to thrust into her, lifting her a little at the hip as he did. Molly wrapped her arms around his shoulders and bit his neck gently, moaning as he pounded away at her, yelping slightly when he reached down her small frame and pressed a wet finger into her smaller tighter opening. She persisted with her little yelps and moans as Sherlock continued to stroke into her. He chuckled softly against her ear.

"You're a wild animal, aren't you love?" He asked as he reached between their bodies, and pressed his thumb into her wet folds, rubbing her clit gently at first, then with more and more pressure. She'd been more passive until this moment, and started to move quite erratically, desperately as she closed in on her second orgasm. Sherlock fairly giggled at her abandon.

"Wait for me, love?" He asked, as he gripped her anew and stroked into her harder now and in more earnest. But she couldn't wait and came again, this time harder, shouting her release more loudly, but he wasn't far behind and was soon moaning into her neck, gripping her to him as he shook and quaked, spilling himself into her.

They held one another for some time, sometimes silently, then cooing to one another, little love words, little compliments. Sherlock stroked Molly's bare back and backside, gripping her hard the way she liked it, and Molly ran her fingers through her lover's hair, leaning in to kiss his temples from time to time.

"Hmm, a little chilly," Molly smiled, and slipped out of Sherlock's arms to retrieve her clothes and was rearranged in them in moments, looking as though nothing at all were out of the ordinary, and Sherlock rearranged his own clothing as well. Molly leaned up to speak to John.

"All right, love?" She asked.

"Yes, I'm fine. You?"

"Hmmhmm, lovely." She pecked him on the cheek. "Are we - ?"

"We're – almost out of the city." John drove on.

)))))

Molly dealt with the registration at the Inn, while John and Sherlock hauled what few belongings the three had brought with them to their rooms. They were in their suite of rooms in what seemed like moments. It was a ground level suite with glass doors accessing a private outdoor area with chairs and table. There was a small kitchen area and a small dining area – a table with four chairs. A sitting area had a comfortable looking sofa and a gas fire, and a large armchair. A smaller bedroom was located just off the sitting room. The main bedroom was quite large, the bed larger than Sherlock's and the bathroom adjoined.

"But why did you insist on driving whole way, love?" Molly asked John.

"No reason – just – just - ."

"Control," said Molly as she leaned down to kiss her husband. John pursed his lips, smiled and nodded.

"I suppose so." John agreed.

Molly stroked his cheek.

Molly sat down next to her husband on the sofa. "Well, I'm for a walk, what about you? There are some extensive woods with little paths - ?"

"Walk? Ugh." John leaned back stretching his neck, rolling his shoulders.

"Yes, you must be tired John," Sherlock came into the sitting room with bottles of water from the fridge and offered them around. When his hands were empty, he reached to John's shoulders, carefully digging down into the muscles, John moaned his pleasure rather unreservedly, leaning forward to allow Sherlock better access to his back.

"Do you associate driving with erm, some of your experiences in Afghanistan, John?"

Sherlock asked.

"Ahaha. Yes, I – I only learned to drive when I was there. Had to - for the – job. But, how – how could you know - ?"

"Tension. This-," Sherlock continued to work his friend's muscles, which even more tightly wound than when he'd touched him in the car earlier. "Yes, this wasn't there this morning when I touched you. Or last night, certainly. There must have been some – moments of extreme – anxiety for you and your - team?"

"Mmm. That would not be an exaggeration." John rolled his shoulders back, enjoying the release Sherlock's touch afforded. "God, that's – that's - ."

"Let me work it out a little, John, hmm?" Sherlock released him and patted his friend's shoulder. "Come on, take off your shirt. Lie on the bed."

"Oh, that's not nec - ."

"John, darling, don't you want to? You can have a nap while Sherlock and I go for our walk." Molly had given up being jealous that Sherlock could give better back rubs than she could. He was physically stronger than she was, and it's what John needed, someone to get in deeply and do some serious work. She found she couldn't possibly resent it.

John looked as though he suddenly remembered something.

"Oh, right, good idea – I'll - ." The doctor stood, and unbuttoning his shirt led a little procession of three into the bedroom.

"Are you sure about a walk, Molly? I think it's going to rain." Sherlock asked trying to remain innocent.

"I don't mind a little rain. Oh, my coat." Molly stepped out of the room for a moment. _A romantic walk in the rain, is what she has in mind for us. What am I going to do with her? She'll probably have me in the rain, as well. There will be nothing left of me, nothing left of me by the time we're done this weekend. How delightful._

John had stripped off his shirt, and was lying on his back on the bed, so Sherlock straddled him and started to work on his shoulders. After only a few moments Sherlock noted that the doctor was holding back, silencing his vocalizations.

"Let it out, John, love, it's better for you, I think, isn't it? Psychologically? Physiologically?"

"Ahaha. Yes, of course." John was quiet for a few moments, but breathed deeply and after some moments was able to let the sounds release themselves from his lungs, deep moaning. Of release, of gratitude. John could feel Sherlock's weight as he applied a slight but significant pressure against John's back, pressing his hips gently into the mattress, and John was having a very pleasant physical reaction to this gentle bit of pressure: he was getting hard. He let his mind wander back to a time when Sherlock first gave him this sort of delicious erection-inducing rubdown. Seemed like ages ago, only a couple of months.

"Ah, _ah_ -."

"That's better, John, love." Sherlock smiled, knowing the effects he was having on his friend, and continued his work on John's back.

Molly returned to the room wearing a trench coat and trainers. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, wondering what she had on underneath that trench. _Anything at all? Just the trainers? Lovely, naughty Molly. A walk in the rain, indeed. All right, Molly, all right._

"You were so lovely to do all the driving for us." Molly knelt up on the bed in her trench coat, and lay across the bed next to her husband, stroking his face. "Thank you so much for getting us here safe and sound."

The three were quite for a moment, Molly and John smiling contentedly at one another, while Molly held John's hand.

"You're sitting on me." John observed after a few moments and winked at Molly.

"Well, yes, I'm – I'm - ."

"I know what you're trying to do. I'm already quite – well I'm - .

"Well, John, let us take care of you properly, let us, ease the tension a bit?"

"Yes, the tension has just about built all the way up. Ahaha."

Sherlock knelt up and dismounted John's back and the doctor turned over onto his back. He propped himself up on some pillows as Sherlock leaned down to undo his friend's trousers.

Molly watched her two men as Sherlock simultaneously unzipped John, and whispered what she assumed were sweet nothings in his ear, when John suddenly exploded.

"No, Sherlock! Do NOT! Do. Not. Call. Me. That!

"Shh, John, love," Sherlock hushed as he continued his efforts to undo John's trousers.

"No, no! Call me 'love' if you like or that other – but not THAT! I've asked you before."

"You mean, 'doctor?'" Sherlock smirked as he stretched out next to an enraged John.

"No! You know what I mean!"

"What?" Molly asked her curiosity whetted. "What does he call you, John?"

"Hmm, it's just words, John, love," Sherlock hushed.

"No, NO! It's too, too - ."

"Wait! What is it? What do you call him, Sherlock?" Molly tried again.

"You mean, 'captain?'" Sherlock smirked some more, fairly giggled. He knew John hated the moniker he'd just called him by, but he thought his friend was being silly and Sherlock wanted to talk it out a bit with Molly present. It seemed like an opportune moment.

"No, no, no! You know perfectly well what I mean, what you just – just now called me!"

Molly waited a moment then quietly asked.

"What, love? What is it, darling? Tell me what he calls you, will you?" Her quiet question and her calm demeanour showed John's outburst in no small degree of contrast and John reigned in his passion on the issue a bit. He bit his lips, looking at Sherlock who was still smiling, teasingly stroking John's hip.

"He calls me – well – he calls me 'my little man.' His – you know _his_ little – oh my god."

"Oh, I see!" Molly's expression lightened. She was afraid it was some bad name or other, she wasn't sure. "Well, John, we all -."

"No, no, I've asked him _not_ to call me this – on more than one occasion, Sherlock! You've already called me 'John, love' in front of people, where will it end? And it's – it's - ."

Molly giggled.

"What?! What's funny about it, exactly? It's – it's – ."

"Possessive?" Sherlock offered.

"For starters, yes, it is. It's - It's quite possessive and also quite – it's quite - ."

"Diminishing?" Sherlock smiled, sitting back on his heels on the bed, trying to calm John by continuing to stroke his leg.

"And diminishing, well, Sherlock, yes, it is. It is in fact."

"All right, John. Fair enough. I want to tell you now that I've overheard you call Molly 'mouse,' 'little mouse,' 'sweet mouse,' and, in fact, 'my little mouse,' and any number of variants thereof on many occasions. I think I've heard you say something akin to 'sweetness' and 'sweet _thing,_' as well."

"Um - ."

"These are possessive and diminishing, John, are they not? Not to mention objectifying, a mouse being less than a woman, less than a human being."

"Yes, but she knows - ."

"Ah! She _knows_ something. What? What does she know, John?"

"That I mean it – I don't mean it - ."

"Aha! So the fact that she _knows_ how you _mean _it – that you mean it in some way other than the way the words precisely sound, makes a _difference?_ That because you mean to convey - _affection_ and – I daresay – _love_, that it's quite all right, perfectly fine and lovely to call her these names. Hmm. Interesing.Excellent, Watson."

John hung his head a moment, but went on.

"But I don't _like_ it Sherlock. Surely that would - ."

"Molly, love?" Sherlock interrupted.

"Y-yes?" Molly always had a bit of reversion back to an old self when Sherlock got clinically entrenched in a subject like this.

"How do you like it when John calls you – those names I just mentioned?"

"I like it."

"You see?" John smiled, triumphant.

"Oh, really?" Sherlock smiled, "Even though those names are all those terrible things, possessive, diminishing?"

"Well, he's trying to communicate – what you said, Sherlock – love, affection, tenderness."

"Ah!" Sherlock slid closer to John, pressing his face to his neck. "John, love, how is that different from when I call you that –? Hmm? Don't you know I do it to communicate - love? Tenderness, as you say, Molly? I do, John. I assure you I do."

"Oh, well – I – but I - ." John was sure he had a point here, somewhere.

"I also happen to know that on special occasions, occasions that recall your time together as man and wife, a time – without me as part of the equation, agrhm." Sherlock cleared his throat, and John wondered if his friend were becoming a little emotional at the mere mention of a time when the three of them were not together. "I know that you call her 'my girl.' Also quite possessive and diminishing, yes?"

"Molly?" John looked to his wife. Had he offended her? Did she hate him calling her that? "Does that bother you? You could have told me, you didn't have to talk to – I mean - ."

"John, love, I never told Sherlock about it. He's guessed it all."

"Ah! There's another _perfect_ example! When I first met Molly she referred to my deductions and case-solving as _guessing! _Can you imagine? I _abhorred_ it! Because I never, ever guess."

"Yes, you do," said John.

"Not now, John. I corrected her many, many times, didn't I love, but she persisted! She drove me positively wild. And she's _never_ spoken the words 'deduction' or 'deduce' in my presence." Sherlock reached for her hand, brought it to his lips. He kissed her fingers tenderly and continued. "She was doing it to _tease_ me. To get my attention, the vixen. Because she quite fancied me. And I ignored her. I ignored her because I was an idiot. And I wasted those years."

John watched as his wife and partner held hands and gazed into one another's eyes remembering years in which they knew one another, worked together. Years in which, he, John, didn't exist for either one of them. It made his knees weak to think of. Yes, theirs was an unbreakable bond, he knew, one that could never be sundered, however much one might try. Sherlock continued to speak, gazing into Molly's eyes, as though no other were present for him.

"And she forgives me. Look at her, she forgives me my idiotic behavior. My selfishness, my aloofness – all that. Forgiven. I can never – I - ." Sherlock trailed off, still gazing at Molly, petting her hand as he held it in his.

"Shh, love. Don't talk rubbish." Molly smiled patiently.

"No – no of course not. But back to 'my girl!'" Sherlock returned to his subject. "How did you like it the first time he ever called you that?"

"Oh."

"Oh, well, erm, how do you like it now?" Sherlock corrected his line of questioning to be less abrupt.

"I love it."

"All right. See, John? She loves it now. But at _first_?"

"I – I didn't – at all. But I love it now."

"And why didn't you like it? At first?"

"John – I - ." Molly suddenly felt herself at a kind of Spanish Inquisition.

"It's ok, Molly, it's harmless, he's trying to prove a point, don't worry."

Molly tried to answer Sherlock's question.

"I didn't like it because it was so presumptuous. And I'm not a girl, and I didn't know him that well."

"It – rubbed you the wrong way?" Sherlock suggested

"Oh, god. Yes, but that's – that's - ."

"But that's past." Sherlock finished for her. "You know him now, love him, know how he means this little name. With love and affection."

"Yes, of course. John, I love you, and I love your calling me that, never stop, all right?"

"Of course not." John put his arms around his wife, and kissed her.

"Promise."

"I promise, sweet girl, my. girl. Hmm? Love you."

"Love you," Molly murmured back to him as they kissed lightly. Sherlock waited until the two were smiling and restored. John smiled a little tightly at Sherlock feeling somewhat chastened.

"Are you finished, Sherlock?" he asked.

"Not quite, my loves," Sherlock continued. "John, I must tell you that I happen to know - by guessing," Sherlock winked at Molly, "That you, John – you have something you're thinking to call me. You've almost called me this name a number of times already. But you stop yourself. Some pet name of some kind. I've no idea at all what it is. But you have one – some little love name for me. Don't you?"

John bit his lips together. There _was_ a pet name he'd almost called his friend on several occasions but always stopped himself before blurting it out. He was getting closer and closer to saying the name aloud – but only at very – intimate moments.

"I think, John," Sherlock continued, lowering his voice to his bedroom tone, irrisistable. "I think it begins with an 's' sound, doesn't it? But it's not my name, is it?"

"No, it's not your name." John admitted and smiled, reddening a little.

"Oh, tell us, John, darling," Molly was enchanted. She herself wasn't very good at pet names. The sexiest thing she could think of to call someone was by their own good name. Why did some people have all the fun?

John paused, looking around as though for an avenue of escape. He tensed, and then chuckled, trapped.

"John," Sherlock began, "Please call me this name, you're killing me to keep it from me. I can't figure it out, please tell us?"

"No, no, it's – god – it's too - ."

"Sweetheart, it's harmless," Molly encouraged gently, but Sherlock was beside himself.

"John, John, the last time you almost said it, we were in bed like this." Sherlock hauled John down off the pillows and spooned him from behind with his arms around his waist. "I held you like this, and I was - ." Sherlock put his mouth on John's neck, kissing his ear, his cheek. "And you turned your head, oh, god, you turned your head to kiss me and you almost - _almost_ called me – what? Please, please, John, love, please tell us, love."

John turned his head and kissed his friend, effectively re-creating the moment Sherlock had just described. They were nose to nose, now and John couldn't help but smile and stroke his friend's cheek. He couldn't keep this secret from him any longer, either.

"Sweet prince," he blurted out.

"Ah, oh, god – I – I – Oh, I see." Sherlock paused and considered the seeming disparity between the two love names. He knew that it didn't matter. That 'sweet prince' was just as silly and ridiculous a name as 'my little man,' but saw how the connotations of the names, their implications might color John's feelings.

"John, I – I never, ever - ."

"Don't, Sherlock – you've made your point – well taken - you don't have to -."

"- never considered to you be – my – _underling_ – or my - my servant or - ."

"No, don't – I _know_ that."

"It's just a name – it's just a – I – I wanted to call you something, and it came to me, ahaha, quite spontaneously and I -." Sherlock paused, a hand in his hair at a loss, quite down cast at having offended his friend if he indeed had. He bit his lips together and met Jonn's gaze. "Please – ah – forgive me if I've – offended you." Sherlock made to slip off the bed, but John stopped him, gripping his arm. Molly heaved a sigh of relief, as she watched the potentially weekend-ruining misunderstanding come to an end.

"Don't be daft," John said softly. "I know it's just a name. Come on, come back to me." He held out his arms, and Sherlock slowly crept into them, hanging his head. Molly actually let a moan of pleasure escape her as she watched the two embrace, and she slid up the bed on the other side of John, her arms around him.

"You're my partner, John. You've saved my life – on multiple occasions."

"Shh - I shouldn't have been so sensitive. I know it's just a name. You can – oh, god, I'll rue the day – you can go ahead and call me – that, if you want - ."

"Hmm, we'll see. You're my partner – I never thought of you – I never thought of you as – as - ."

"Inferior?"

"I-, I -." Sherlock balked at the word – a word he'd used so often to describe everyone, anyone. Absolutely everyone.

"Incapable of logical thought processes?"

"Well, I – that is – I - ."

"Ahaha. But I think of you as superior, Sherlock, I do. Because you are. You simply are." John's tone was that of a loving, patient parent.

"I – But you're – you're – you – and Molly you are - ."

"We know you are, Sherlock – superior – in so many ways." Molly added.

Sherlock sat up, frowning, waving his hands, as if to bat such an annoying issue away.

"You are – You _are_, Sherlock - ." Molly and John spoke almost at the same time.

"I – I – well _yes_, of _course_ I am, but – ."

Molly and John laughed together.

"That's my boy."

"Same old Sherlock."

Sherlock realized he was being joshed, but only a little. He reddened a bit at so much acceptance when normally, with any other people he'd have nothing but derision at asserting his superiority so blatantly. Here, with these two people was a seeming bottomless font of approbation and love. He grinned.

"Oh, for god's sake you pair of idiots! Shut up! Shut up! And – damn it, John, give me those trousers! Stop that snickering, Molly and help me!"

Molly helped Sherlock work John's trousers off, at first with laughter and giggles, and then with gentle murmuring and cooing as mouths and fingers descended on John's skin. Sherlock and Molly played their usual game of kissing one another as they pressed their mouths down around John's cock, licking him, kissing him. Then Molly took her husband's length into her mouth while Sherlock kissed and sucked John's testicles, then they switched places and switched again, until John could scarcely tell whose mouth was whose. Though he could tell, of course, he could always tell. Molly's mouth was smaller, hotter, wetter, slightly more tentative, while Sherlock's mouth was – oh, god, Sherlock's mouth – _ah!_

Sherlock gently reached between the doctor's legs and pressed into him shallowly, gently.

"Oh, god that's – that's not at all nec- – oh, god -."

Sherlock smiled at John's verbal backsliding, but made no comment, sensing, knowing that the doctor was relaxed and enjoying himself. And if there were any doubt, John dispelled it by spreading his knees wider, giving his wife and friend better access to him. At length John succumbed.

"Close," he said to whoever might hear him, and continued to babble his litany of curses, including Sherlock's and Molly's names. _So_ _predictable_, thought Sherlock, _so_ _reliable, so lovely_. Molly's tongue was tickling John's testicles while Sherlock plunged his mouth down onto John's shaft, working it vigorously until John came, shaking and pulsing through the waves of his orgasm, a hand on the head of each of his lovers's heads, gripping their hair a little roughly. When John was finished, and finally lying back spent and relaxed, Sherlock and Molly kissed little meandering trails up the length of John's body to his collarbone, his throat, jawline, cheeks and lips.

"Come, love, let me taste him," Molly reached for Sherlock, and they kissed until Molly could taste the bitter and somehow piney taste of John on the detective's tongue.

"Lovely," said John looking up at his wife and friend, leaning over him. He rubbed his face with this hands and breathed deeply, deeply satisfied.

"All right, love? Let me get you a blanket." Molly hopped off the bed, and brought a light cotton blanket to cover John's nakedness. Then Molly hopped off the bed again, waiting, a little impatient for her walk, now, but Sherlock lingered by his friend's side.

"We'll take our walk, now, all right, John?" Sherlock slid off the bed, but John grabbed his arm again, and pulled him back.

"Go on, say it – you can – call me that – name – if you want."

Sherlock smiled, and leaned to John's ear.

"I adore you, _my little man_," he whispered so that only John could hear.

"I love you, too, _sweet prince_." They were close, John's mouth at Sherlock's ear, Sherlock's lips touching John's cheek, and they pulled away from one another slowly until they were looking into one another's eyes. The two men held their gaze for a moment then and burst into laughter, laughing so hard that Sherlock couldn't stand up from the bed. Molly had to take his hand and lead him out of the room, leaving John on the bed in his cotton blanket, convulsed with laughter.

"You two. Grown children. Come _on_ love, before it rains. We won't be too long, John, darling." Her words were hardly discernable, though, over the whoops and renewed outbursts of the men's laughing jag. Molly managed to get Sherlock out the door, but even as the two walked briskly down the hall toward the door and the woods outside, they could hear John's ebbing outbursts, and Sherlock's answered each one. Molly smiled as she slipped her hand into Sherlock's, and Sherlock's laughing eyes met hers as they opened the door that led outside and toward the woods.

)))))

_I think I've put off finishing this, now, far too lengthy nonsense because it's become such a fixture for me. _

_It's been so much fun, and then I got bogged down in it, and then fun again and now, I really need to stop!_

_Sorry I didn't make yesterday's promised date! Forgive me!_

_A one-shot called Preferences coming soon._

_I'll need a little more time to wrap this baby up._

_But I think only one or two more chapters. Hopefully only one!_


	48. Birthday Holiday II 081913

_Some of Molly's secrets revealed_

_Mention and memory of rape and suggestion thereof_

_Total Sherlolly_

_John & Sherlock have a chat_

_Hope you like it._

_**Birthday Holiday II**_

Sherlock and Molly left the inn by a side door that seemed to lead directly to a wooded area. Molly seemed to know the way, so Sherlock let her lead, following along, almost meekly.

"Should I be frightened?" He called to her as Molly took off into the woods at a brisk pace, her way clearly described by the rut of a runner's path shallowly pressed into the soil.

"Maybe a little," She turned her head as she kept her pace through the deepening brush, but smiled at him before she turned back to face the direction in which she was headed. As she strode on, Molly found that suddenly the images of a dark day long, long past began to emerge and mingled with the picture the woods offered her this afternoon. She conjured that day now, as she walked, its sights and sounds, willed it back to her to be buried today. To be buried now and forever.

"_It's this way," he said, and she struck out to follow him on an impulse. To get away from mum and dad and the rest of the family. To have a breath of air after being stuffed in the car for all those hours. To not have to help with the luggage. To be bad for once. To follow this reckless boy who thought he had all the answers._

"_I know what it is. It's a pond, and there isn't any path!" She said, her voice squeaky but sure._

"_Everyone knows it's a pond, you stupid idiot." Her cousin ran ahead of her, not glancing behind him, seemingly content to go along on his own. Or so cock sure he would be followed that he had no need to look over his shoulder. She had to run hard to keep up. He sped ahead of her in the brush, no path at all to follow here but his head of ginger hair, bright orange against the green of the summer foliage was hard to lose even as he ran from her. A perverseness in her compelled her forward into the deepening woods. Her better judgment would have had her at her mother's side, helping unload the bags from the car to the rooms of the inn, but she suddenly felt she had something to prove as Connor ran off from the group. Of all her cousins, and there were many on this trip, he was the most reckless, rude and forever telling others they were wrong. She felt compelled to correct him despite her shyness. But she was getting bolder as her few years progressed and she found she must confront things when they were unacceptable. She found that she would not be ruled by fear. She had to run hard to keep up, and completely ruined her new white trainers when she jumped across the little stream, landing in the mud._

Sherlock followed Molly with a smile, wondering what shamelessness would follow this morning's activities in the car, and would they end up incarcerated? But he was game, and it _was_ her birthday, after all.

Sherlock scanned the woods ahead of them and noticed that they deepened in the direction they were headed. There were more conifers, but there was also the thickening bramble of endless deciduous seedlings and more lower flora. The sky was getting darker, he noticed, a storm was definitely blowing their way.

"It will certainly rain soon, Molly!" Sherlock called out over the gathering wind.

"I know!" Molly shouted back. He could detect a wildness in her eyes, in her demeanour despite the distance between them. "You don't mind a little rain do you?" Sherlock smiled, and shook his head, following as she continued to quietly slip on through the woods, somehow not losing the narrow, now almost imperceptible runner's path that led the pair deeper and deeper through the bramble. He could sense that this afternoon's activities, pleasurable or no, were part of some darker purpose of Molly's. He knew it would be a little reckless, a little unusual but that whatever she had planned would be harmless enough. Nothing he couldn't live through. He let her lead him, and he matched her pace.

"_We should go back, it's getting late and we should help -!" Molly shouted to her cousin as the pair continued to run._

"_Look – go back if you want – no one invited you!" Colin turned to Molly._

"_How did you know about the pond anyway?" Molly found herself looking up at her cousin, a full head taller than she, three years her senior. She wanted to make him see his rashness, his lack of planning, even though she herself had lacked any kind of planning at all running after him. _

"_Everybody knows. But what _you_ don't know is that there's a dead body in it. _And, _ sometimes it floats to the top and you can see it." _

"_A dead body?" Molly had never heard of such a thing, though she had her family had been coming to the inn for summer holidays for some years. "Rubbish!" Molly's scientific sensibilities were already strong in her. _

"_What do you know?" Colin stepped a little closer to Molly._

"_But you've never seen it, have you? It's probably not even true." Molly stuck her chin out defiantly. Even as she did so, however, she saw there was something in Colin's eyes that was new and menacing, even though he smiled down at her. He reached and gripped her arm, holding her for a moment, then he shoved her back along the path._

"_Ok, it's not even true, fuck off out of here." He pushed her away. Molly stumbled and might have fallen, but she was nimble on her feet and recovered quickly. _

"_Show me, then! Show me the body!" Molly was used to rough treatment like this from her own brother, and an upbringing in a somewhat rough neighborhood. She stood, just out of her cousin's reach. _

"_Keep up if you can, or fuck off if you can't," said Connor and turned to run further into the woods. Molly couldn't help but follow. _

Sherlock couldn't help the rise of feelings of innocent enjoyment as he ran through the woods, pausing here and there to examine a particularly interesting or unusual plant or tree. He let his lungs fill with the still cool summer air, wet with the coming storm. Pine, loam, something animal, likely various rodents - and - -_is that mint?_ He licked his lips and tasted the air on them. He let the Latin names of the things he saw and smell run through his mind like satyrs dancing in the undergrowth, singing the rough music of the names of trees and plants. When had this, and experiences like this become such a different kind of enjoyment? _These people. These people of mine. _He remembered a few boyhood romps in the woods, and this was like that. His time had been his own. Mycroft's motherly, forever meddling, forever advising presence had been nowhere around. He stopped for a moment taking in the woodsy scene before him and the joy of this multitude of sensations hit him again, innocently as before in his childhood. He grinned and then took off running after Molly again.

_Colin stopped at the edge of the pond, and Molly stood off, away from him, out of his reach. She looked into the pond, but also kept a close eye on him and his movements and noticed that he was watching her, too. Colin feinted a grabbing arm toward her, and Molly jumped away from him, but he stood up again and smiled as if he'd made a joke. Molly stepped well away from her cousin, and looked out at the water carefully._

"_See – there's no body." Molly said. _

"_You don't know. We have to wait for it to bubble up." _

"_B-bubble up?" Molly asked. _

"_Yeah, the water bubbles, then the body rises to the surface." Connor said with certainty, as he gathered stones from the ground, and started pitching them into the water._

_Molly paused and considered the possibility of this._

"_Rubbish," She said, also with certainty. _

_The clouds that had been gathering since the arrival of Molly's family and the families of her cousins, couldn't contain themselves any longer and it began to rain. It was gentle at first, but then it suddenly got quite dark, and the rain began to come down more heavily. _

"_We'd better go – go back." _

"_See! See, the water! It's bubbling!" Colin was entranced, muddying his trainers as he tried to lean out over the water, scanning the surface, waiting for the mysterious dead body to rise from the depths. _

"_That's just the rain, you idiot." Colin looked to the sky, and Molly saw that her cousin hadn't realized it was raining when he'd perceived the change in the water's surface. She saw his expression register his mistake, and watched his color go scarlet with humiliation. She hadn't meant to do this to Colin, but now it was done, she was certainly ready to leave his presence. Molly looked toward the inn, and a dark sinking feeling consumed her. _

_Now it was Molly's turn to recognize her own mistake. She realized that while manoeuvring away from her cousin, to avoid him shoving her again, she'd managed to position him between herself and the inn. To begin to walk back to the inn, she'd have to pass him. The pond was blocking a way to walk far around him the one way, and there were heavy brambles and trees in the other direction. She looked at him, and a strange smile was on his face. _

"_Yeah. Better go in, huh?" Colin agreed, strangely amicable, and he motioned toward the path of broken branches, and separated brush that the two of them had left as they had come toward the pond. _

Sherlock noted a bit of a clearing of the rather thick canopy above, which might describe an opening in the brush ahead. Then he heard the stream. He caught up to Molly, who was standing on a little decorative footbridge, which crossed the stream.

"We came here on holidays twice a year or so," she explained. "When we were young, my brother and I – mum and dad – and - cousins. There's the pond. It's huge! Oh my god, so many years." Molly's voice was suddenly quite youthful with excitement as she pointed ahead to the clearing. Sherlock could just make out the shimmer of the surface of the rather large pond ahead still obscured by tall grass, brush and reeds. Without looking at him or speaking any more, Molly dashed ahead toward the water in the bramble ahead. The rain was gradually becoming heavier.

Sherlock saw Molly disappear from view, some 50 feet ahead of him, hidden by the thick bramble, as she leaned to look at something on the ground. Had she fallen? He wasn't sure, but then he saw her pop up again. He watched her crush the leaves of some plant in her hand and then rub the crushed leaves on herself, on her neck, her chest and lower. Then, she was running again, and he became a little breathless as he sped up to overtake her. _Oh, god, is she going to jump into the water? For heaven's sake, does she expect me to jump in after her? I'll do it, I won't be able to help myself_.

The smell of plants and moist earth hit him again more strongly. He caught her up near the water's edge, and drew her to him as he stood behind her, his arms gently ringing around her waist as they looked at the water together, taking in the shattered reflection of the canopy above them, the pattern of the rain on the surface of the water beginning to boil more and more rapidly. He breathed in the scent of her neck. _Mint_. _She's rubbed mint all over her skin._ _Intoxicating_.

"Rain harder, soon, much harder." Sherlock murmured into her ear.

"Hmm, yes." Molly was quietly smiling into the shallow water as Sherlock held her, waiting patiently, waiting, but unable to keep from asking questions.

"What is this place for you, Molly?"

"My secret place. I was – magic. And I had powers. You know – when I was a girl."

"Mmm. Fairy princess?"

"Yes!" Molly turned her face up to his, "But you didn't have a sister growing up?"

"No, I didn't. But - a pack of female cousins."

"Mm, yes. I had cousins, too." Molly's countenance darkened again, and Sherlock was convinced that she had a purpose here more than an afternoon's impulsive sexual romp. He let the pieces of the puzzle hover before him then fall into the water as he regarded them, however, not bothering to work hard at it. She would have to tell him in her own time, he decided. He would prompt her, ask her questions and he knew she would allow it. He knew she'd expect him not to press her, though. And he knew she was grateful for his patience with her.

They watched the rain gather more heavily on the water's surface of the pond and continued to take in the scents and sounds of the world around them.

"In our family we had a rumour that there was a dead body in the pond. That the water would start to bubble and a dead body would rise to the surface." Molly smiled, but seemed quite mesmerized by the scene. She didn't seem to want to start back just yet but Sherlock was beginning to wonder if they shouldn't begin their journey back to the inn..

"Perhaps we should - ?" Sherlock wasn't completely clear on whether a hard rain was enough to put a damper on what it was that Molly had in mind.

"No – shh – can't we just -?" Molly took his hand, encouraging him to stay by her, but also asking him for his silence, his indulgence as she communed with this pond, this sacred place, clearly a part of her personal mythology. _Of her youth? No. Her childhood? _ _No. Oh. Initiation. Unpleasant initiation. What other kind is there? Oh. Forced initiation. Oh, god. Oh, yes, of course. _Sherlock breathed a sigh of regret and pain at his realization, but waited patiently for Molly to make the next move.

"Did John tell you about this place?" Molly suddenly asked as if startled.

"John? No, should he?" Sherlock asked. _What's this? John is keeping secrets from me? How has he managed it? _

"No, no, he shouldn't." Molly smiled, and took Sherlock's hand, leading him away from the reedy edge of the pond, pushing the seedlings and brambles as she went still deeper into the woods, as the rain, too became gently heavier and heavier.

"_We'll race," Colin said. I'll give you a lead. Go on." Colin held his hand out as before, gesturing for her to make a start. "Run!" Colin said, advancing on her. Molly stepped back, farther into the woods. "Go on run! RUN!" Colin rushed at her, and Molly sprinted out of his way, back toward the path, back toward the inn. She glanced over her shoulder as she ran and was startled to see that Colin was standing still, still at the edge of the pond. He was being true to his word, giving her a head start in a race, letting her get ahead of him. But she wasn't at all surprised when she heard him running after her, crashing through the brush, getting closer with every stride, and laughing as he came on, closer and closer until she could hear him breathing, thought that she could feel the breath on her neck and shoulder. There was no way for her to get to the inn before he overtook her. _–I should stand up to him. I shouldn't run. I should turn and talk to him – make him see._ But he hadn't seen, he never did, he wasn't that sort of person, she knew instinctively. She ran faster, she dug deep and ran as though for her life, but it wasn't enough, it could never be enough and it hardly mattered that she slipped in a soft bit of earth, tripping over her own feet, then the bushes. She fell face down in the wet leaves. He was upon her in only moments. _

Out in the woods, divorced from his native urban environment, Sherlock had been a little on edge until now. But in an instant he noticed that his senses seemed suddenly to become more acute. His hearing, his vision, and madly, his olfactory senses all seemed to be turned up a notch or three and his head swam a little. Of particular note was his sense of smell. He imagined he actually smelled Molly, smelled her sex, even through all that mint and he was becoming more and more unsteady, feeling his blood rush from his brain.

Molly led Sherlock deeper into the woods. Coming away from the edge of the pond they approached an area that could hardly be called a clearing, but which was surrounded by conifers. Within the clearing were three small decorative cement benches. What the benches were doing out here, so far from the inn, far from the edge of the pond, was anyone's guess, but here they were. They seemed to have been attached to some house or estate long since torn down. Forgotten, unmolested the little trio of benches continued to offer a resting spot to tired runners or walkers who'd ventured this far away from the inn. They were covered in pine needles and seemed almost a part of the environment, but even in the dense woods the presence of the three little seats gave the little semi-circular area the air of artifice, of theatre. Molly ran to the center and quickly turned back to Sherlock, smiling. He followed her and took her in his arms, and then undid the buttons and belt of her coat, revealing what he had suspected, her naked skin, except for her trainers. She was lovely, her skin now completely described in little rivulets of rain water running from her face and shoulders down her throat to her breasts and belly, down her legs. He smiled at her transformation into this creature of the woods and touched her face, leaning to her, kissing her, going slowly despite the rain and wind.

For Sherlock the kiss was tentative at first. He searched Molly's face, questioning her wordlessly. He was unsure of what she wanted exactly, besides sex. What was his purpose here, he wondered? But then as he kissed her again, the mint with which Molly had brushed her skin fully filled his lungs and changed his attitude completely. Despite the rain, the mint clung to her – or was it the rain that went to his head? In either case, as he scented her neck, his head spun as his blood drained from it, and he pulled Molly to him, roughly taking her mouth with his.

He explored her tongue and teeth with his own tongue slowly but powerfully, sweeping in deeply, rubbing his tongue against hers, then biting her lip. Without removing it, he pulled her trench coat off her shoulders and watched the rain form on the perfect smoothness of them, then he leaned down to gently bite the flesh. He found himself licking the rainwater off her, drinking it.

Molly had already reached into Sherlock's trousers and was stroking his shaft, then driving him mad, her fingers at his head, exploring the little contour where the glans met the shaft.

"Molly, love, what are we doing out here?" he whispered, his voice hoarse already. He looked into her eyes for an explanation once more

"I'm – taking something back," She answered, then she smiled, kissing him again, undoing his trousers, then reaching behind him and grabbing his backside, gripping him, rubbing, scratching with her nails. He had no choice but to lift her to the nearest tree and press himself against her. He pressed his face against her breasts, licking and biting, enjoying the sensation of the rush and patter of rain against his face as he held his mouth to her skin. The rain was almost sheeting down on them, now and the heightened sensations continued to affect Sherlock. He pressed his hand between her legs and found her very receptive, and she hiked a leg over his hip as he explored her. They took their time, kissing, touching, letting the rain soak their clothes and hair thoroughly.

Impulsively, Sherlock sank to his knees in the spongy sodden soil beneath their feet. He slipped a little, and he had to grab at Molly's hips and the tree against which she still leaned. He looked up at her and saw her unmistakable look of complete abandon, of wantonness. He didn't pause then but pressed his face to her sex, tonguing her, smelling her, greedily tasting the torrent of rain water as it mingled with Molly's own wetness. He rubbed his face in the rain water on her inner thigh, against her sex, her belly almost involuntarily and let out a sound that could only be described as a growl. He realized he'd never felt so carnal before, so completely a physical being. He rose to his feet, taking her mouth with his, his hands on her breasts, rolling her nipples between his fingers. He felt her arching her back, leaning in to him and though he didn't have to ask, he did anyway.

"Now?" Sherlock's voice was quite husky.

"Yes, yes, now, yes." Molly put her arms around Sherlock's neck, as he lifted her hips, drawing her other leg around his waist, pressing her higher against the tree trunk. He reached between them and guided himself into her. When he found his way to her, he thrust in deeply with a controlled power that made her bite her lip, and then open her mouth in a rather loud moan of pure animal pleasure. Sherlock withdrew only slightly and started to move against her, finding a rhythm.

"Is this - what you wanted?" he asked her, already a little shaky on his feet, already sensing that this might not take long at all.

"Yes, yes, it's good, love." Molly was rocking against him, using all her strength as she arched her back into the tree, and thrust and ground her hips against him.

A loud crack of thunder and a close flash of lightening startled both of them into looking up at the sky, which was now almost dark as night. When they looked back at one another they smiled, giggled, as they continued to move against one another with more and more desperation.

"I'm getting – close, love – is there – something – something else - ?" Sherlock held still a moment, deep inside her, one hand squeezing her breast, the other tangled in her hair. "Shall I – stop a moment?" Molly didn't answer, so Sherlock withdrew from her, letting her drop to her feet.

Sherlock was a little desperate now, not knowing how long he could hang on like this as he watched Molly, who seemed to be in a non-verbal, feral mode. She stood away from the tree, then, her coat hanging loose around her, her breasts and belly beautifully exposed, laced with little streams of the running rain on her skin, her nipples and nose and chin dripping. She walked the few steps to the cement benches, looking at Sherlock over her shoulder. She stood at the center bench, and beckoned him to her with a look. He followed obediently, and sat before her on the bench, feeling the squish of the water, the pine needles and his trousers against his backside and thighs. He smiled and looked up at her, his senses wildly alive with the storm. He reached to her breasts, kneading them, then he sucked the rain off her nipples, slurping with enthusiastic sucking sounds. He felt her hands in his hair, his dripping wet hair as he pulled her close, his hands on her arse. Then he felt her move against him, mounting him where he sat.

"Oh, god, love," he breathed as he felt her reach down, and guide him into her again and then she pressed down, urging him deeper inside. He managed to look in her eyes as she did this, and noted her expression as she pressed down, allowing the last few inches of his cock to enter her fully. She was all animal, now, all urgent instinct and she wiggled down against him when he was fully inside her and pressed her chest against his. As she devoured his mouth, she reached for one of his hands, and pressed one of his thumbs against her little bundle of nerves between her legs, which he found was already quite engorged. He smiled, and kissed her back, rubbing her gently as she began to move.

As they struggled together on the bench, Sherlock shucked the raincoat Molly wore, down her shoulders again, this time, half way down her back. The effect was lovely, she was totally exposed, her breasts were high and her nipples dripped a torrent of rain water. Only her arse and legs were covered from the view of any wayward walkers that might happen by, which seemed highly unlikely as the waves of rain and wind continued to sheet down against them.

"Lovely – oh, god – please, please - ," Molly begged, but for what, Sherlock couldn't quite tell, only knowing that she was clearly getting close. Sherlock bit down on one of her nipples, and listened to her shout as the sound was drowned out in the rain and a sudden, but more subdued clap of thunder. Sherlock held her arms more firmly, pulling her hips down against him, forcing her to work harder. Her movements became desperate, and her vocalizations became louder too, but they were drowned out in the torrent around them.

"Close," he managed to whisper as he bit her neck, pumping into her. Molly cried out a guttural, wordless protest at this, but thrust against him harder and harder, finally coming to a plateau. She bucked hard against him for several more strokes, and stiffened in his arms as she moaned and rode out her release. Sherlock watched her head fall back, completely spent, before he picked up his pace, pulling her hard to him, the skin of their bodies slick against one another with rain. _Her skin is so lovely, so white and smooth and slippery, _he thought as he fell over the edge, pulsing his finish into her, moaning uncontrollably, gripping her suddenly heavy body close to him.

Sherlock managed to stay alert just after his finish, and gently brought Molly's coat back up over her shoulders. She wrapped her arms around his neck, his own arms holding her waist under her coat, his hands slipping down to stroke the lovely curve of her backside. They found one another's mouths again and kissed, licking the rain from one another's faces.

_Colin had dropped to Molly's back and straddled her in the mud when she fell, gripping her waist with both hands. Her flimsy summer clothes hadn't been much of an obstacle, and he managed push what he needed to out of the way to penetrate her and take what he wanted quickly. He ignored Molly's fight and protests, though she struggled hard and called out quite loudly, the rain and wind swallowing most of her cries. Colin finished his business without much fuss. It took about a minute and a half. As he stood up from where the two had been lying and did up his trousers he spoke to her and she felt his eyes on her back, as she lay stiffly on the ground, sodden, defeated._

"_Hey. You ok? Oh, you're mad, huh? Follow me out here, now you're mad? You'll probably tell. Yeah. You're the type. Go ahead, then. See where that'll get you." He left her lying in the wet leaves, and walked toward the inn. _

_The rain was letting up as Molly pulled herself up from the mud, reaching down to see about her pants. She found that they were still in place, just twisted around a bit. She knew there was supposed to be blood, but she only found the tiniest trace. She inspected her dress. It was soaked, but mostly covered in leaves, and not in the mud she thought would be all over her. Feeling herself mostly unhurt she began to walk back to the pond, the stinging ache between her legs getting more and more uncomfortable as she walked. The rain had stopped now, and she stayed by the pond a good long while, then she wandered farther into the woods and came upon her secret place. The cement benches and the semi circle under the pines. She sat on the center bench as she usually did when she came here. It felt strange, unbearably strange to sit, now. It seemed impossible that she could, but here she was doing it. She thought of her girlhood game here in the clearing with the benches. She would imagine she called the fairies of the woods to her, their queen. But the last time she'd done this seemed impossibly far away now, the game seemed gone forever, never to be played again again. _

_She considered crying, but bit her lip instead. She tasted the blood. She considered running and telling her mum, but punched herself in the arm instead. Was this my fault, after all? I did follow him. Just like he said. Was it my fault? She asked herself, and would ask herself for years to come. Was this my fault? How did I make this happen? She punched herself in the arm again, this time harder. She punched herself again and again. The bruises lasted for weeks. _

_When she regained the inn, no one noticed her return, and she was able to slip into the room without drawing much attention, had a bath and dressed for dinner. No one found her behavior or demeanour at all remarkable. She stayed in the room for most of the holiday, venturing to the beach only once in a while, when she'd heard that Colin and his family had gone in some other direction to indulge in some other activity. _

Sherlock and Molly seemed content to stay in one another's arms, still connected for some moments until another alarming crack of thunder brought them out of their daze.

"You're so very lovely," She said into his face, her fingertips at his mouth.

"So are you." Sherlock smiled at her, but his body betrayed him suddenly and a shiver shook his muscles.

"Shall we go back, love? Dry you off? And John. Mustn't worry him." Molly made her suggestions casually and didn't seem to be in the least discomfited by the rain or the lowering temperatures, if anything she glowed more brightly than before.

"Mmm, yes, let's go. But Molly, love," Sherlock stopped Molly before she stood, "Won't you tell me –?"

Molly stood up from Sherlock's lap, and wrapped her coat around herself, belting it tightly.

"Not – yet." She seemed completely natural, except that she was wholly soaked with rain. Sherlock grinned as he stood, his own clothing a much more cumbersome affair. He managed to tuck himself back into his pants and trousers, pulling the zip together, and managing to do it up. Molly leaned down and pulled on the hems of the trouser legs, to straighten them. She stood again to look at them. The pair giggled, then Sherlock managed to button his shirt. He made to tuck the shirt tail into the trousers, but with a gesture abandoned the idea. He winked at her, and turned to look at the path and the way they'd come.

"I know the way, but be careful, it will be treacherously muddy and slippery." Molly warned, remembering a fall of many years past. The two made for the inn.

"Wait, just a moment." Molly turned back to the benches and stood still in the center of the clearing. As she stood quietly, the rain seemed to sense her presence and lightened ever so slightly. Sherlock regarded her back and noted her stillness. _As if she were saying goodbye. What? Forever? Or reclaiming something, as she said?_

She turned back to him, smiling, and struck out on the path back to the inn.

"Come on, love." She said.

They paused a moment at the bridge for a kiss as the rain started to lighten more.

They were soon off again, regaining sight of the inn, and they were quickly inside, being scolded by the receptionist at the desk. Though they waved her off, she insisted on bringing them a couple of towels right away, and they waited for her return at the reception desk.

Sherlock looked at Molly again for an explanation. She finally leaned to him, conspiratorially.

"I must tell you about all this another time, all right? I know, you've been such a good lamb, and done what I've asked, but – honestly, everything's all right. I'll tell you another time., and it will be easier then. Now is – too soon."

"This life of secrets, Molly, from both of us. You – ahaha – you realize that I _know_, of course?"

"Oh. Yes, I suppose you have some ideas. You just don't know – the details." Molly looked up at Sherlock. "Forgive me? I've – used you a little, it must be said."

"Mm." Sherlock realized. "Yes, I suppose you have." He looked sternly at Molly for a moment, then cradled her neck in his hand before drawing her close. "Never mind."

"I – I am trying – to – to - ." Molly got tongue tied trying to find the right words.

Sherlock looked down at Molly, her eyes imploring, her lower lip trembling.

"Yes, I know," he said to her, caressing her cheek with his fingers. "You're trying to give up some of your secrets. I see that. I can see that."

"Thank you," Molly breathed as they stood together quietly before the owner returned with the towels she'd promised. "I'll tell you both all about it. Let some time, pass, though? A few weeks?"

"Of course." Sherlock kissed her temple gently.

"Here we are! Pink for girls and blue for boys! Or is it green? I'm never sure. I think I have a touch of the color blindness. But it doesn't seem to stop me!" The proprietress held out fluffy towels to Molly and Sherlock who took them, with a nod and a meek 'thank you.' They walked back to their suite.

"What about John?"

"I dragged him out here when we went to my cousin's wedding last month - ."

"Ah." Sherlock nodded, remembering his people's absence for a full three days. "But what did John - ?"

"Well, you can talk to him. We – went out there at night. I nearly got us lost. It was quite – aghm – exciting. Although, he was a little cross with me. Hmmhmm. We stumbled about a bit, but then we saw the lights of the inn, and – oh god! We were covered in mud!"

With Molly's laugh, Sherlock opened the door, and they were back in the suite.

)))))))

John, they saw, was freshly showered, shaved and comfortably bundled up in a robe. He looked up from his paper from where he sat on the sofa.

"Ahaha. So, she didn't get you lost out there?" John gave a wry smile.

"No," Sherlock said, "but as you see - ."

"Yes, soaked through." John observed, chuckling.

"I know you liked it, though, John. Hmmhmm. Dangerous, yes?" Molly chided, pecking his cheek as she continued to dry her coat and face with the towel. "I won't be long, love, all right?" Molly reached to kiss Sherlock as well before she made for the bathroom, leaving the two men alone together.

"Tea? Kettle's just gone." John folded his paper and stood up. Sherlock saw him quell an impulse to touch his arm before he moved away to the kitchenette in the center of the suite. "Give us a chance to chat, hmm?" Sherlock gauged the tenor of John's words and tried to process what it might be he needed to chat about.

"Problem?" Sherlock asked as he followed John to the counter where there were three tea cups set out.

"Not at all. At least I'm fairly sure there isn't." John set about pouring the water, then opened a box of biscuits. "So, she - had you out there? You got out of it alive?"

"Mmm, yes."

"It's to do with her – well – you know. I'm sort of waiting for her to pick her time to tell us all the details." John shrugged, trying to stay casual, but his eyes were filled with concern.

"Yes," Sherlock said, "I quite agree. She'll get to it, John."

"I know, I know. It's just hard."

"Yes, it is." Sherlock watched John struggle with the packet of biscuits. "You've – you've packed - biscuits? From – home?" Sherlock asked.

"Ahaha. Well, yes, of course. Why not?"

"Well, why indeed. But I must tell you, John, I find that – rather adorable."

John smiled and turned a little pink, and Sherlock smiled. "Well? What shall we chat about, John? What have I done?"

"You haven't done anything." John smiled and shook his head, then became serious. "It's just that - Molly and I – well – Molly would like me to – talk to you -."

"Ah. All right." Sherlock suddenly realized it could only be one thing at this stage of the game.

"She wants us to be clear about – you know – the thing – the – about – _that time_." John avoided Sherlock's eyes, and hung his head, communing with the tea pot. Sherlock reflected upon the fact that John never called it 'the fall' or 'the jump' or the 'faked suicide' or the 'faked death.' In fact he rarely referred to _that time_ at all, unless a direct reference was absolutely necessary. Sherlock imagined that the doctor was progressing with the matter, dealing with that pain in the best way he knew how, and though Sherlock dearly wished he could do something to make it easier, he knew he'd done all that he could. The apologies, the explanations had all been made and made again and again. He was ready to make them yet again if necessary, though he knew John was done with that portion of the process. Even so Sherlock was wracked with guilt and the mirror image of his pain as John lifted his head and looked his friend in the eye. Sherlock saw John's face was filled with doubt and fear and confusion again as he remembered those days. The jump, the very real funeral, the long absence. The revelation that Sherlock had faked it, the realization that Sherlock hadn't asked for John's help even in all the 18 months. The two men stood in silence, their gazes locked. Then they both began at precisely the same time, slowly, with precisely the same words.

"I don't know what else I can do - ." They stopped in mid sentence, their mouths still open. John laughed.

"I know, I know. You've apologized, explained. You've done all that you can do. I don't ask for anything else." John quickly patted Sherlock's arm, then looked away to the teapot again, as though taking all his cues from that piece of crockery. "Molly is concerned that I haven't – let you know – substantially enough – that I've - ahaha - _forgiven_ you. So, I was – wondering – what else I could do – to let you know that – that I _have_ – I have forgiven you – for – well – for that deception. I know you already know."

"_John_," Sherlock reached for John's arm, placing his thumb on the wrist, rubbing gently. "I know you still have – difficulty."

"Yeah." John took his hand away and rubbed his face with his hands. There was a moment of rather uncomfortable silence before John spoke again. "Thing is, that's the part that – you know – all that crap – time heals – blah, blah. I know it will. I know time will – take the edge off of those particular – feelings. But it will – take time."

The doctor looked at Sherlock in the eye with a look that he'd only ever seen once before in John's face. Sherlock averted his gaze.

"I – I'm so - sorry."

"I know, I know." John waved him off then continued. "But the – you know – the forgiveness part. That's done. I mean if there's anything at all to forgive. You did it to save our lives. I do get that, after all. You know that, right?"

"Obviously." Sherlock's voice was hoarse and quiet.

"Ahaha. Ok." John raised his face to Sherlock's again, and took a step closer to him seated in the bar stool at the kitchen counter. "Molly just wants me to be clear with you. And she wants – you know – for us to be able to talk about it more openly. I – I do agree with her. I know that - I've been rather - stoic."

Sherlock reached for John's arm again, and John let him take it. Then quite naturally the two men drew together, Sherlock's arms slipping around John's waist, bringing him close, pulling the doctor between his own knees, holding him close. They embraced easily, comfortably. As John rested his chin on Sherlock's wet hair, he could feel Sherlock's breath coming a little more quickly than was natural for him.

"I didn't think there was a point in bringing it up - before you – were ready." Sherlock said..

"Yeah, I know. Thanks. It's ok, though, we can – I mean we ought to be able to – talk about it. You should be able to talk to me, too. I've never even asked you – well. When you're ready to tell us – what happened to you – what you went through. I – I do want to know. We both do, love. It must have been - ." John paused with some emotion. "Well," he continued. "It must have been – so lonely."

Such complete selflessness in this man didn't surprise Sherlock, but the depth of it seemed to take over his senses completely. But Sherlock was doubtful. He didn't want to bring the darkness of the events of his time away amongst the three of them. Not today, not on Molly's holiday, possibly never. But he recognized the possible psychological benefit in – _oh for god's sake - _ in talking about it. He held John against him more closely, and John didn't pull away, even as he pressed his face into the doctor's chest, breathing his soap and the foreign scent of the inn's terry robe, bleachy in its cleanliness. Sherlock felt John's arms slip around his shoulders, holding him gently, but with a comforting firmness that made Sherlock sigh against the doctor's skin. He felt one of John's hands slip into his hair, gently carding through his wet curls, combing through them, smoothing them against his head. It always calmed Sherlock when John did this, and Sherlock was quiet as he waited for John to conclude his little talk.

"So – you know, don't you? I – oh Jesus, Christ, it sounds too impossible to actually pronounce, but I'll do it for – you know – for the record. I – I _forgive_ you, if it needs forgiving, I do. I do with all my heart, hmm?"

"Ok."

"You – I don't want to put words in your mouth – but you knew, you knew this, didn't you?"

"Yes, of course. I thought you were working through it – and you would talk to me if you needed to. When you were ready."

"Ok. Molly just thought -"

"She's right. I – I knew – but it's better to - ."

"Yeah. Ok. We'll talk – more." They were quiet for a moment before John asked. "Ah. Do _you_ forgive _me_?"

"What on earth for?" Sherlock drew away from John to read him, analyze.

"For being one of the reasons you had to – give up all those months of your life. To – to -." John gestured with his hands, suggesting impossible feats of daring.

"I didn't give up anything. Not a thing, John." Sherlock quickly assured his friend. "Interesting. Yes. I see your point, but I think you know I harbour no resentments on that level at all. Against you or anyone. I hope you can see that."

"I didn't think you did, no." John smiled and shook his head.

"Good. I absolutely don't." Sherlock paused a moment, collecting himself and for the first time since his return, Sherlock put words to his 18 months away from London. "That time was – difficult. It was – well, it was quite - unpredictable and sometimes even – exhilarating. It's true though - you're right, it was – I was quite isolated almost the whole time. But I was – well, I was myself, and I was engaged, I was at work." Sherlock paused a moment to observe John. The doctor stiffened in Sherlock's arms, went quiet. Sherlock knew it would be hard for John to take, the description of – well, of dangerous adventures in which he had not been asked to share. Sherlock was fairly certain that now was not the time to get very specific.

"In any case, that's done now. I'll – tell you - whatever you want to know about it – sometime soon. I will."

John's hand lingered at Sherlock's throat as he pulled away from him, his finger tips tracing the sculptural lines of his neck. He smiled at last.

"Ok. We're – we're good then?" John's eyes were deep and wide, and Sherlock couldn't help but smile his gratitude and love into them.

"Mmm, yes, I think so."

"Yeah. Good." John heaved a breath of relief before he turned his attention to the tea. He poured them each a cup, and they shared the moment in comfortable silence, each with his own thoughts about Sherlock's time away. At length, Molly popped out of the bathroom in another robe like John's.

"Are you still in those wet clothes? You'll catch your death. Go on, I've left the bath running it should be almost ready for you."

"Ah, all right, thanks." Sherlock set his cup and saucer down and retired to the bath, leaving John and Molly behind him. Even as he turned his back on his lovely people he could feel them communicating silently as he stepped away, striping off his ruined jacket and shirt. _Their little surprise. It's now. Right after I'm done with my bath. The traditional exchange of tokens! How conventional. How ridiculous. How twee. How adorable. How lovely. _

_How absolutely delightful._

_Ok, that was so hard for some reason. I'm exhausted!_

_Review me? I'd love it so much. Please, please, please._

_You don't have to be review-y, you can just say 'hi.' _

_Don't you know I'm lonesome for you?_

_Last chapter coming soon!_

_Check out "Preferences" a 7,500 word one-shot along the same lines as this story. _

_You'll find it under the same author name, JennoftheGlenn here on fanfic._

_I have a page on_

_That old Tumblr_

_You know, the website with the big T, and the blue background! _

_Under the same author name_

_It is VERY NSFW (not safe for work!)_

_VERY PORNY and getting pornier – might be dangerous_

_Just random reblogs to illustrate my notion of Jollock_

_(If I write it out here, they'll erase it.) _


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